Wagers
by uncer giedd geador
Summary: Short story number 18 - In which Bilbo receives a tip-off and sets about some determined detective work in an attempt to root out a long-hidden secret buried at the Company's very core. What will he uncover? Who can he trust? Will he be forced to resort to looking for fake beards? And just what exactly do dwarf women look like anyway?
1. Belief

**_I thought it was time there was more humour in this fandom, so decided to write these. That's about all the explanation there is. _**

_In which Bofur bets that Bilbo will believe anything, and the hobbit suddenly finds himself saddled with two over-enthusiastic guides to dwarf customs._

Belief

"Your turn." Kíli's demand raises a small sigh from one of the older dwarves riding behind them, probably Oín or Gloín.

Luckily Bofur has more of a sense of humour, and less of a sense of propriety. He glances up and down the line of ponies with a secretive look. "After much observation," he announces, "I am willing to bet you that our burglar, Mister Baggins, will believe anything." He pauses, and clarifies. "Anything realistic, that is."

Kíli screws his nose up. "Realistic?"

"He means that we can't try to tell him that the sky is green, or that Uncle actually has three arms."

The younger dwarf grins. "But he-"

"What are you wagering?" Fíli interrupts, elbowing his brother in the ribs, then expertly dodging the return blow.

"A turn on watch."

"Two turns."

"Just one."

"Fine. When can we start?"

A distinct cough sounds from behind, and Fíli feels a pang that this profitable, amusement-promising venture is going to be brought to a halt so soon. But his fears prove to be unfounded.

"Any chance of us joining in?" Dwalin asks. A few other dwarves express agreement.

Bofur spread his hands wide. "Open to all comers – one hobbit to tell tall tales to. If you can get him to openly disbelieve anything you say by the end of the day, I'll take your next watch. If not, you each give me, oh, a silver piece each."

There's some grumbling. "That's not fair. Thorin will stop us trying to swap watches anyway…"

"Money or a turn on watch then. Your choice, Nori."

The dwarves nod. "Off you go then lads." Dwalin rumbles. With twin grins Kíli and Fíli prompt their ponies forwards, already bantering about how to split the prize.

* * *

"Bilbo!"

"Hello, Mister Bilbo!"

"Hello?"

"Mind if we have a chat with Bilbo, Master Gandalf?"

"Not at all. I'm perfectly happy talking to myself."

Bilbo suddenly finds himself separated from the rest of the group, sandwiched between the two brothers. "What, what were you wanting to talk about?"

"We were just wondering if…"

"… anyone has ever explained dwarf culture to you?"

"Well, I've mostly been picking it up as I go along."

"What have you picked up?" Kíli asks with some interest.

"That you're, ah, keen warriors, hardy, stub-, sorry, er, resilient, strong… err, very loyal…"

"Well, that's something." Fíli looks him up and down. "And all true of course. But we were just thinking that since you're going to be travelling with us we really ought to answer any questions you might have."

Bilbo is suddenly overcome by a near-irrepressible desire to ask how flammable dwarves are, but decides that this probably isn't the sort of question the brothers are aiming at. He'll probably find out when they get to Erebor anyway. "Are there any dwarf women?" He asks instead.

"No." Says Kíli suddenly.

"Where do you come from then?"

"From rocks. Haven't you heard the stories?"

Fíli realises that he may need to give his brother a better definition of 'realistic'. He's sure Bofur is probably hovering about a short distance behind them, eavesdropping.

"So how come you two are brothers?"

"We came from the same rock. Obviously."

"Hmm. What about Thorin?"

"Well, he came from a rock too."

"The same rock or a different rock? He _is_ your uncle. How does that work?"

Fíli decides now is the time to break in, as he's not sure where Kíli's train of logic, if it could be called such, is taking him. "Bilbo, it would be better is you did not pry into the sacred mysteries of our people. And Kíli, it would be better if you did not tell of them."

Kíli dips his face to hide a grin. "Sorry brother." This was going to be more difficult than they thought.

"Alright. In that case, may I ask about the beards?"

"What about them?"

"Just generally… about them."

"Well, a dwarf's beard and braids are symbolic of many things." Fíli starts off. "Fighting prowess, skill at smithing, completion of some great deed or feat of arms…"

"…eating lots, er, intelligence, common sense…"

"Which is why we had to get rid of Kíli's of course."

"Hey! That's n-" Kíli catches his brother's look and quickly amends: "You didn't have to tell him that."

"What did you do?"

As Kíli tried desperately to think of something he hadn't done, his brother came to the rescue. "He brought down the whole roof… where was it, Kíli?"

"Doesn't matter. Anyway, you dared me to. You told me to go take some of the tiles off."

"And you _listened, _brother."

"Stop plaguing our burglar, both of you." Dwalin booms, pulling up beside them. "He doesn't need to hear about your escapades."

Bilbo tried not to breathe a sigh of relief as they moved off. He had been feeling rather trapped. "Have you never had any 'escapades', Dwalin?"

Dwalin gives him a disparaging look, which makes Bilbo presume he hasn't. "I'm a warrior, lad. I've escaped from situations you couldn't imagine."

"Well, I suppose…" Bilbo trailed off, as Dwalin proceeded to launch into a speech longer than any Bilbo has ever heard the taciturn dwarf make before, as he describes some of the countless battles he has fought in, and the hundreds he has killed. Gloín joins them, and backs up Dwalin's story that he once fought off and beat a cave troll with only a sharp stick, singlehanded.

"Of course," Dwalin adds, "if Gloín hadn't jumped on the other one's head and throttled it, I doubt I'd be here today."

"True, true."

Bilbo politely assured them that he was most relieved to have such brave and battle-hardened warriors by his side and edged his pony away, back towards Gandalf.

"Bilbo!"

He was very popular today. Either that or Fíli and Kíli were practising ambush tactics.

"Bilbo, sorry we went off on a tangent earlier."

"We didn't really answer your question."

"So we thought we'd better-"

"-come back." They chorus.

"How do you do that?"

"What?"

Bilbo isn't sure which one to address. "Finish off each other's sentences."

"We can read each other's minds." Kíli replies seriously and receives a shove from his brother. He need not have worried.

"Sorry, was that another 'sacred mystery'?" The two brothers pause, so he continues. "Sorry, you're right, I really don't know what's going on here, and I'm sorry if I-"

"No, no, it's fine." Fíli is not quite sure how the hobbit can manage to fit so many 'sorry's in one sentence. Or not look the least hesitant in accepting what Kíli has just said.

"It's just us who can do it." Kíli reassures the hobbit. "I think. Uncle can't, anyway, otherwise we'd be in trouble."

"A lot." They exchange grins.

"Is it because you're so close? I mean- "Bilbo tries to cover himself, "you're closer than the other dwarves."

Kíli looks bemused, and Fíli can't really see a way of denying this one. "Yes. I suppose we are."

"Why?"

That was more like it.

"Well, when we were but small dwarflings, our par-"

"Rocks." Kíli breaks in.

"…Our rock -", Fíli glanced at Bilbo, but he still showed no sign of noticing the near loss of narrative-continuity. "Well, a rock isn't a very good parent anyway, I'll be honest, and Thorin was generally busy."

"And Balin's quite slow."

"And so once we got lost in the woods and had to look after each other – or rather, _I _had to look after Kíli –"

"I helped."

"- for nearly a month. On our own." Fíli stresses this, but Bilbo still appears unfazed. "We built a nest in a tree and lived like elves until Thorin found us."

"And lived off raw rabbit. Mostly."

"Actually, I think it was two months."

"And you-"

"Fíli! Kíli!"

Kíli looked across at Fíli, who shrugged. "I fear we are wanted, Master Baggins. Hopefully we can continue this conversation later?"

* * *

"Nori? Where are we?"

"Keep your voice down, Master Baggins. This is one of the most dangerous areas we've travelled through yet."

Bilbo looks around at the spreading sunlit hills, and gives the straggly copses to their left a cursory glance as well. "Why? Have you been here before?"

"Only once." Nori shudders. "There are evil things that lurk in these hills. Pray we do not stay the night."

"What… what are they?"

"They do not have a name. They come when you are sleeping and suck the life right out of your blood. If you wake up you feel only the cold slowly seeping into you as all the warmth fades away." Nori has been taking lessons from Bofur.

"How do we stop them? If we do need to stay the night?"

"Thistles." Nori says cryptically. He waits a moment for a reaction, then leaves in disgust.

* * *

"What's for dinner?"

Bombur peers at the hobbit from over the rim of the cauldron. "Stew."

"Stew? Rabbit stew?"

"No rabbits round here." Kíli assures him. "We spent ages hunting for them."

"What is it then?"

"Squirrel. And two crows."

"And whatever it was Ori hit with his sling." Fíli adds.

"A sparrow." Ori informs him.

"Oh. Well, that's in there too."

"That can be your portion, Bilbo!"

Bilbo doesn't quite share Kíli's delight at this prospect. "Squirrels. Right. Well, I hope it's been seasoned well…"

* * *

"And your share is… three silver coins, since you did most of the work. Buy yourself some more handkerchiefs with it."

"Thank you." Bilbo carefully put the money in his belt pouch as Bofur leaned back against the tree, pipe in his hand, watching the camp below.

"That went very well indeed. I swear I haven't heard such ridiculous stories since Gandalf last told one of his tales."

Bilbo shares the smile. "Yes. But can I just confirm-" he hesitates, "that none of it _was_ true?"

Bofur suppresses a smile. "Well, you've seen Dwalin fight a troll yourself – he does not favour the pointy stick method. Nori tried to frighten you with dwarfling tales, and as for the lads, well…"

"Obviously the bit about the rocks wasn't true. I think. And the stew. And their childhood. But-"

"As far as we are all aware, they cannot read each other's minds." Bofur looked back pensively towards the camp. "Probably," he added. "If they actually could I cannot see them telling anybody. You should probably know, though …"

"What?"

"You've been eating squirrel stew for the past three days."

**I have a few more ideas, but if you would like to share some, please do! Otherwise I may revert to less humourous tales... At least, I hope you found that one amusing. Please review if you did, and tell me what you found amusing, so I can make more like it. **


	2. Rain

_In which the dwarves think up a new way of trying to convince Gandalf to meddle with the weather... An explanation of how it all began. _

Rain

By the time they were a few weeks away from the Shire it had already become an established tradition. Collecting gold, treasure and trinkets had always been a favourite pastime of the dwarves, and they were never ones to turn down a good bet. Of course, the first one of the journey had led to substantial holes in some purses, but for the majority this only whetted their appetite, and half an hour later a chance comment of Nori's was seized upon eagerly:

"I bet Mr Baggins will fall off that pony soon."

Several minutes of fierce bargaining and one bruised Bilbo later several basic guidelines were established:

1. Consider the wording and phraseology of the bet very carefully before proposing it.

2. Take particular consideration of agent/cause.

3. Never accept a bet of a week's worth of ale from anyone who is trying hard not to grin manically at their brother.

4. Don't upset Thorin.

But, as certain younger members of the company have oft been heard to remark, 'where's the fun in that?'

* * *

However, the range of things one can do whilst riding a pony is limited, and accordingly a series of smaller, more mundane bets also arose. A good hour every morning could easily be spent by the older dwarves discussing the likelihood of rain, the amount of cloud cover and how cold it would be when they finally set up camp that night. Up until recently, at least. Currently, no one had any doubts at all about what the weather held for the near future.

The rain dribbled down the back of Dori's neck. Technically his hood should have stopped it, but his hood had been sodden for two days now. His socks squelched between his toes, water pooling in his boots. He would tip them out when they next stopped, though it would do little good. The trees they were plodding along under served only to divert the drizzle for a little while, before dripping it back on top of them. Up ahead of him, in the grey, he could just make out huddled shapes, and the leaking rat-tails of someone who'd given up on their hood. Dori can see why. He has the distinct feeling that he couldn't be damper if he was wearing nothing at all.

Over the past two days they have tried numerous strategies to prompt Gandalf into providing some more clement weather. They have hinted at it, suggested it, asked pertinent questions about his weather-related abilities, asked him politely, asked him straight out, wheedled, reasoned, begged, cajoled, pleaded and finally threatened – a strategy they are never, ever going to try again with any wizard. Ever.

But, Dori realises, there is one strategy they have not yet tried.

He reined his pony in next to Gandalf. "Mister Gandalf?"

"Yes?" The wizard's bushy eyebrows appear to be perfectly dry under that wide-brimmed hat – a hat that also appears to be dryer than it should be. Dori tactfully doesn't mention this.

"Care to place a small bet?"

"What on?"

"The weather."

Gandalf peered out from under the hat to survey the unforgiving skies. "Are you sure that is wise?"

"I have a reasonably-sized bag of Southern Leaf I picked up in Hobbiton. Still dry and the best going."

The wizard's expression brightens. "Then what is your bet, Master Dwarf?"

"That when we stop to rest it will be sunny."

A frown appears. "It will be eventide before we stop. I will bet you a bag of tobacco-leaf that we sleep on dry ground tonight instead."

Dori accepts. Whatever happens, he has won this bet. Either he will gain a good pouch of tobacco-leaf or Gandalf will make the rain stop. At the moment he would rather the latter.

* * *

A cheery chatter arose around the fire, as the thick smell of bubbling stew pervaded the air. It was still not quite enough to drown out the aroma of the rows of steaming, greying socks drying out next to the fire however, and for that reason Dori slipped out to the doorway. It was a cosy little place Gandalf had found them - a small abandoned cottage tucked away in a valley, the roof and walls still intact. And just as well. Dori doesn't need to go outside to see – or hear – that the rain shows no sign of abating. All he has to do is watch the smoke rings floating gently past through the doorway, each one neatly pierced by the heavy droplets falling from above.


	3. Forbidden

**Because there's snoooooow!**

_In which Ori does a terrible thing, and Kíli gets the blame. _

Forbidden

"Do it." Nori urged a second time. "Go on."

Ori frowned. A large niggling part of his mind was telling him that this was a very bad thing to do, but an even larger part told him that this would be a good way to earn respect in his brother's eyes. That respect was not the sort of respect that Dori, for one, would want him to obtain, but it was respect nonetheless. Surrounded by so many hardened warriors and venerable elders, Ori couldn't help but think that a little more respect wouldn't do him any harm. "Alright then."

They were right at the tail end of the line. It was slow going today – an overnight freak snowstorm in the high foothills of the Misty Mountains had meant that they had had to dig themselves out of their cave in the morning. The ponies weren't liking it, and neither were most of the party. Ori didn't mind so much though – the hills looked exceptionally pretty like this – and a few yards in front of them Kíli's satisfied grunts as he hurled snowballs against the more hostile-looking trees with unerring accuracy proved that he wasn't the only one enjoying it.

Ori scooped up his own handful of snow and started to shape it. The cold seeped through his mittens, but the warm rush of anticipation and the supressed terror at doing something so forbidden combatted it. He lined up his sights. He had only one chance, and if this went wrong he would look like the biggest idiot in the world.

And now there was no turning back.

_Thump _

"KÍLI!"

The snowball had hit Thorin firmly in the back of the head – exactly where he'd been aiming for, in fact. Ori's king turned round angrily, brushing the snow out of his hair and glaring down his youngest sister-son.

"Told you so." Nori murmured, slightly smugly. Ori's hands start to shake, and not just with cold.

"What?"

"You know what! Is this fit behaviour-?"

"Uncle, it wasn't me!" Kíli swerved round in his saddle to find only Nori and Ori behind him.

"Who else could it have been?"

"I – not me!"

"It is usually you." Bofur put in, but quietened when Thorin turned his gaze on him instead.

"Kíli, we will speak of this later."

"But, Uncle…"

"It was me." Ori squeaked, somewhat shrilly.

Thorin looked up at him. "You?"

Ori held up his snowy mittens and Thorin glanced between the two potential culprits. "I told you it wasn't me." Kíli muttered.

Thorin refocused on the trembling Ori. All he said was: "That was an impressive shot from that distance." A few dwarves murmured in agreement, and Ori felt a warm glow of pride thrilling through him. Kíli shot him a half puzzled, half admiring look over his shoulder, then turned back round again with a quick grin.

"But you didn't let him take the blame though." Nori murmured beside him. "That was half the bet." But Ori doesn't care. He just sits back happily as he watches the young dwarf prince in front of him roll his eyes at the back of Thorin's fur coat, turning something in his hands. Kíli's blowed if he's going to take the blame for a prank he hasn't even pulled.

_Thump_

"KÍLI!"

**Once again, if you have any ideas, please tell, before I head off adventuring again. Or actually get back into a worky mood. You just can't work when there's snow, you know. **

**Also, a few reviews wouldn't go amiss. I'm not sure anyone's actually reading this, so I might call it off soon, much though I enjoy writing them. **


	4. Tough as Old Boots

**A sort of follow-up from the last one, because I can't get enough of Kíli and Ori… **

_In which Kíli and Ori test each other's endurance, and Bilbo wonders yet again at the stubbornness of dwarves._

Tough as Old Boots

Bilbo's feet had kept them wondering for a while. In most ways, physically, Bilbo was just like a small dwarf (or a very small human, depending on your perspective), but to the dwarves the feet were just strange. It was as if, as Bofur said, "Someone had taken all the hair that should be on his face and put it on his feet."

"Are your feet not cold, Mister Baggins?" Ori asked inquisitively, if tentatively. Bilbo still hadn't managed to get the majority of the dwarves to drop the title – though they now at least got his name right. Most of the time, anyway. And he was fairly certain that the ones who kept getting it wrong were doing it on purpose.

Bilbo looked down at his feet. He hadn't even considered the possibility that they might be cold. The snow was nearly melted, after all, and it wasn't as if he'd had any problems before. "No" he said honestly.

"Do they feel anything?"

"Not really, no."

"Not even on rough ground?"

"Hobbit feet have tough soles. It's just like wearing boots."

"What about if you walked on broken glass?" Fíli asked, joining in the conversation (or interrogation, as Bilbo was beginning to think of it).

"Or hot embers?" his brother contributed.

Bilbo winced. "I think I would feel that," he conceded. All three dwarves looked rather disappointed.

"Dwarves have tough feet too, you know." Ori piped up. "Even if we do wear boots." The other two nod in agreement. _Dwarfish pride again_ Bilbo thinks with some amusement. He's been seeing a lot of it lately.

"How tough?" He asked, since he felt it was time he got to ask some of the questions.

Fíli shrugged. "Not broken-glass-tough."

"Probably fine for rough ground though."

Bilbo frowned at Kíli. "Really?"

The young dwarf nodded. Ori paused, then agreed.

"What, all of you?" Bilbo hasn't seen much of the dwarves' feet (something he should probably be thankful for, seeing how little they get chance to wash their socks) and instinctively feels that they may be exaggerating the truth here.

"Us younger ones better, I should think."

"Really, Ori? I wouldn't think you…" Kíli broke off with a grin, and Fíli laughed.

"I could! Just as far as you!"

"Let's try it then!" Kíli was practically leaping down from his pony as he said it. "See who lasts the longest!" It only took Ori a few seconds to join him, hopping about as he peeled his boots off.

Bilbo sighed internally. Why did all the discussions the dwarves have seem to turn into arguments, and why did all the arguments have to then turn into competitions?

By now those behind them were gathering around to try and work out what wahappening, some of them already placing bets. Bilbo just smiled as the two barefoot dwarves set off beside them, occasionally wincing as they found that the path wasn't as smooth as it appeared from the ponies' backs.

"It's cold!" Ori yelped.

"Of course it's cold! It's a patch of snow!"

"Would it be easier with numb feet?" Dori pondered aloud.

"No!" Kíli answered definitively, with the edge of someone who knew about these things.

They went a little further. Kíli seemed to be gritting his teeth, and Ori was already flagging.

"How long can hobbits walk like this for, Mister Baggins?" Ori asked.

"I don't know. Hours, I suppose. Days, if we needed to." Bilbo rethought this. "Though we'd have to stop for something to eat."

"Ouch!"

"Here's a hint: try and avoid the sharp rocks and keep your eyes on your feet, not on Bilbo here."

Ori looked back down at his feet, and then glanced across at those of his competitor. They appeared to be turning blue. He thought for a moment that he might be in with a chance, before realising that he had failed to take into account the famous stubbornness of the line of Durin. Stubbornness he was determined to match.

"Why are you going so slowly?"

Thorin had arrived.

"Because we're walking." Kíli told him, matter-of-factly.

Thorin gave him a Look.

Fíli stepped in and explained. Thorin appeared a little more understanding afterwards. "Who's betting on whom?"

Fíli was surprised at that. His uncle very rarely joined in with this sort of thing, apart from to tell them to stop. "Everyone's betting on Kíli, I think. Apart from Dori."

"Moral support" Dori muttered. Ori's ears turned red.

"Hmph. I'm betting on Ori." The dwarf in question was the one to look the most shocked at this statement , and turned to intently studying his increasingly aching feet as the bargaining went on.

"Well that's that settled then." Thorin rubbed his hands together. "Kíli, I need you to scout ahead."

Kíli's eyes narrowed. "Where?" This was blatantly unfair.

"Over that hill."

"Which hill?" His voice was slightly petulant.

"The steep snowy one with all the sharp pointy rocks on it." Bofur said helpfully, and somewhat gleefully. He hadn't placed a bet himself.

"Why me?"

"You're fast, you have good eyes, the ground's too rough for ponies, and you threw a snowball at me yesterday."

"So did Ori."

"... And because I say so. And take your boots" Thorin commanded, when his chosen scout looked set to go without them. Kíli huffed and accepted the bundle from his brother.

The others watched as the small figure trudged resolutely up the slope and off into the distance. "What now?" Gloín asked warily, unsurprisingly less than keen on losing his money.

"We keep going until the point when one of them's common sense overcomes their pride." Thorin was getting slightly fed-up with all the hold-ups, but hoped that a longer one now might save them time later, if the younger members of his company started to see sense. Which they would soon, if the limping was anything to go by.

Ori looked resolutely at his feet. The figure on the fellside continued its erratic progress upwards. Bilbo just concealed a sigh. The dwarves might not know very much about hobbits, but he had already learnt enough about dwarves to know that they really, really ought to have put a time limit on this one.

**Bit ill at the moment (partly self-induced, so no pity please!) so not sure that was all that good. Originally I was going to have Ori win, but in the end I couldn't decide so I left it hanging. Couldn't make up my mind whether to spite Kíli or Thorin. What do you think? **

**Thank you for the reviews, by the way. I'll keep on writing (sorry for the latent threats – had a bit of a why-am-I-doing-this-when-I-should-be-working thing) though I'm off adventuring for most of next week. But I should come back with some more after that.**


	5. Thin Ice

**Well, after a load of epic treks, snowy peaks, wild winds, near-constant silliness, good food and the occasional tune, I feel I have done enough, err, 'research' to warrant another chapter or ten. Featuring the Durin clan again, because few others have that precise mix of adventure, spirit and spur-of-the-moment stupidity that myself and my own siblings apparently so embrace.**

_In which Fíli and Kíli cannot resist a dangerous temptation, and Bilbo is drawn to join in…_

Thin Ice

It was perfect.

Smooth as new-forged iron or knapped flint, the surface glints in the sun. A tiny clear patch of water, reflecting white sky, then a sort of clear glassy grey, misting into silvery white, so thick the water below can no longer be seen. Perfectly flat, perfectly smooth. It reminds Fíli of the moon when full, or just starting to wane – so round, so smooth, such a ghostly shining white…

Damn it. He's starting to sound like the wizard.

Kíli hasn't even said anything to him. He doesn't need to. One glance, and they can read it in each other's eyes, already moving in synchronisation. _We __must __do this. _It's too good a chance to waste.

Fíli dumps his pack and his heavier weapons, looking across to make sure his younger brother follows suit. He reckons they have enough time before the others get here. Besides, they're supposed to be scouting for fresh water, so in a way they're only following orders.

He makes sure he's the first one to step onto the frozen tarn, testing the ice beneath his feet. It's partly to ensure his brother's safety, but mostly, he'll admit, because he's the eldest,and therefore should get to try new things first. Even if his little brother's now bigger than him.

Kíli slides out past him anyway, chuckling under his breath.

"Kí-"

"The ice is solid! Thick as stone flags!"

"But slippier!" He joins in his brother's laugh as Kíli ends up face down on the ice, struggling to get up. His brother ignores his helping hand, scrambling to his feet on his third attempt, and immediately trying to push his erstwhile helper over. There's a short struggle, which Fíli wins.

"Huh. Bet we can get to the middle."

Fíli nods and takes a few cautious steps forwards, onto the greyer ice.

Then comes the sound that they've both been dreading.

"FÍLI! KÍLI! GET OFF THERE NOW!"

* * *

"…Anyway, it was too good to resist."

"So we ran out onto it-"

"Cautiously"

"-But it was thick enough to hold us both. Well, it cracked a bit-"

"A lot."

"Ominously."

"Yeah, like it was going to break open-"

"-At any moment-"

"-Just under our feet-"

Thorin rests his head in his hands, well aware that this is the embellished version, and that the pair are only trying to worry him. They're succeeding. All he can offer is reproving silence.

"I tried jumping up and down-"

The silence isn't working. "Just go to bed."

* * *

Bilbo creeps out early. He wasn't woken by the bitter cold, but by a sense of excitement. That sense of excitement that he remembers from his childhood days, before a birthday, or, better still, on the rare winter days when snow blanketed the Shire.

His reasoning runs thus: If the ice can support the weight of two fairly heavy dwarves, surely it can stand firm under a hobbit? He can see the enticement that drew the brothers in – to stand on solid water, in the middle of a lake… He bets he can get right to the middle. He's lighter than them, after all, and the others are still asleep…

But his dreams of secret adventures prove to be short-lived.

Facing away from him, towards the light of the newly-risen sun, a figure in a bulky cloak stares pensively out into the distance, feet firmly planted on shining ice a few yards out from the shore.

Bilbo chortles silently to himself. It seems that he's not the only one who can't resist the lure of the unbroken pool. Turning around, he leaves Thorin to brood in peace.

**Umm… I seriously recommend that you do not try this at home…**

**It's really good fun though!**

**Also, I wanted to get Dís in, but obviously couldn't, so now I'm worried that I may have made Thorin a little too motherly. Also having doubts about the amounts of apostrophes, which aren't really a Tolkien style thing. But I'm not sure I'm aiming for a Tolkien style anyway… Oh well, tell me what you think. **


	6. Revelry

**Thanks for all the reviews, by the way. They're a great incentive to continue!**

**I envisage this happening at somewhere like Bree. Yes, these are not linear. They are just… random. And I really really like this one. It's why it ended up so long. **

_In which the dwarves take over an inn, Thorin loses his cool, and much singing happens. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol._

Revelry

"How bad is it in there?"

Bilbo frowned as he tried to answer Thorin's question, leaning against the side of the inn in attempt to make the ground stay still. What did 'bad' count as for dwarves? He'd thought the worst it could get was what he'd seen in his own poor hobbit hole, but apparently – judging by what he was seeing now, at any rate – the dwarves had been on their best behaviour then. "Not so bad" he replied tentatively. "I just came out to get some… some fresh air. And some peace and quiet. Where have you been, anyway?"

Thorin humphed. "Sorting business. How far have they got?"

"How far…?"

"Has Dori told the tale about Ori and the fish yet?"

"Yes" Bilbo replied with some confidence. It had been a fair few hours ago, and he'd had a fair few half-tankards since then, but it rang a bell. It sounded like it had been a good story, but he couldn't for the life of him remember how it went.

"Has Balin started reminiscing about…" Thorin waved a hand in the air "… well, anything really."

"Doesn't he-?"

"More than usual."

"Yes." Bilbo had been treated to a monologue.

"Have Fíli and Kíli done that trick of theirs with the fiddles yet?"

Bilbo frowned, gazing up into the night sky. "Which trick?"

"The one where they play theirs with one hand and the other's with the other."

"Oh, yes." Bilbo had been very impressed, especially when they had managed to do it without knocking any drinks over. Or each other.

"Arm wrestling?"

"Maybe?" Bilbo resisted the urge to massage his wrist. Apparently even Ori was stronger than him.

"Has anyone been dancing on the table?"

"Hmm…?" Bilbo was dragged back from his contemplation of the slight ache in his arm.

"Has anyone danced on the tables?"

"I think… I think I might have done that. With… with someone else." With a bit of luck_ they_ wouldn't be able to remember who _he_'d been either.

Thorin ran his hand across his face in despair. "We had best drag them out of there soon then. Wait." He froze suddenly. "Is that… singing?"

Bilbo nodded happily. Songs had been happening sporadically for hours, but had been getting progressively… obscurer. Was that the right word? Bofur had a fine collection of songs, all with excellent choruses, but some of them made Bilbo blush. He had crept out just after the current one had started.

"What are they singing?"

"Um… a b- battle song?" Bilbo tried to remember. "Kíli, no Fíli… or the other one, bet that Bofur wouldn't-"

"Is it Bofur's one about me and the men at Tharbad?"

"Is that… is that the one that starts '_Thorin was a brave brave king who never lost a fight. He hated orcs, he hated elves, loathed men with all his might'_? Or actually, that _might_ be the chorus…" Bilbo trailed off, realising he was addressing empty air. He paused for a moment, then followed the dwarf king inside the tavern.

"_Now he stabbed left and he stabbed right, he slew them all around! _

_A hundred thousand corpses lay there on the ground! _

_He chopped one man clean in half and then cleaved off his head,_

_To keep it as a trophy to hang above his bed._

_The men were scared and shaking. They-"_

"BOFUR! Stop it!"

"_- turned and ran away._

_But brave Thorin would not let any escape that tragic day."_

"BOFUR!"

Bilbo watched as Thorin tried to struggle through the throng as the innkeeper and whatever of his clientele were still left looked on in shock. The protests were drowned out by a full-throated chorus. Bilbo joined in, pleased to discover that he knew it after all.

"_All hail mighty Thorin, king of Erebor!_

_Never stand in his way when he goes to war! _

_He'll lop off the enemy's head with a nasty thunk!_

_And that is why, his poor ma sighs, you should never get him drunk!"_

* * *

"Sorry Thorin."

Thorin's look speaks volumes which even Bofur's throbbing head can make sense of.

"You don't get the money though." Kíli slurs. "You never finished the song."

"He never got the chance!"

"No. No he did not." Thorin's voice breaks through the protests. "Because the town watch threw you all out of the tavern before you could finish." A babble of protests and explanations arises, and Thorin raises his hand. "And then, when you tried to continue the verse outside, we were thrown out of the town too! Because they think we're an invading army that has decided to get drunk first and torch the place later!"

"Well, Dwalin did try to hit them." Dori offers helpfully.

"I _know _that!"

"I'm just saying."

"Where are we going to sleep?"

"Well, not in warm tavern beds, that's for sure."

Bilbo groaned. He had been looking forward to that feather mattress. And his head could really do with a nice soft pillow at the moment.

"Back to usual, then." Gloín says gruffly.

Thorin nods ungraciously. They do at least still have their baggage with them. He surveys the sorry gathering, noting in particular the fact that his sister-sons appear to be propping each other up. Kíli grins at him weakly.

"How many did you have?"

"…Thirty?"

Thorin sighs in exasperation. "You did not."

"I lost count. More than him."

"Not so." Fíli counters.

"Did. You got distracted when… when Ori fell asleep on your feet."

"Your fault."

"Not my fault I can drink more than him…" Kíli straggles off as his uncle's expression registers in his addled brain.

"What did you say about Ori?"

"He fell, fell asleep on the floor by Fíli's feet. It was sweet, you should have seen-"

Thorin turns back to the locked, barred and bolted gate, behind which the lost member of his company peacefully, if drunkenly, slumbers. He briefly considers hammering on the gate with his axe, before a verse pertaining to his fictional self charging the walls springs to mind. He'll send the hobbit in to fetch him in the morning. He glances at their swaying burglar and reconsiders. The afternoon it'll have to be.

At least one of their company will sleep in the inn tonight, even if it is only forgotten on the floor in the corner.

"_All hail mighty Thorin-"_

"SHUT UP!"

**My appalling song lyrics are supposed to be sung to a jaunty tune something rather like Monty Python's Philosopher song, which has rather better lyrics. However, I'm going to take the authorial opportunity to blame Bofur for the lyrics and rhyme scheme – ah, the joys of internal narration. **


	7. Stew

**I have cunningly got my own song stuck in my head. *reaches for whistle* May end up having to write another one to oust the first. **

_In which Fíli attempts to demonstrate a hitherto unrecognised skill, and his brother protests mightily, leaving the party forced to pick between the two heirs and face the consequences of their decision... _

Stew

"What?" Kíli nearly drops the brace of wood-pigeons he is holding. The figure brooding over the cooking pot is not Bombur. Definitely not. No-one needs an elf's eyes to see that. "Fíli, what are you doing?"

"Cooking."

"But-"

"It's a bet." Bofur explains helpfully. "Your brother thinks he can cook better than mine."

Kíli can't quite believe this. "Bu-"

"Anything has to be better than what we ate last night." Fíli points out. "We're comparing the two meals. You all get to judge. And we just cook whatever we are given." He eyes up the pigeons his brother is still clutching meaningfully.

"This is two days-worth of meat."

"I can cook it all, can I not?"

"As in – yesterday, I didn't catch anything."

Fíli frowns. "What did Bombur cook then?"

"Ask Ori and Nori."

Ori jumps, finding himself suddenly put on the spot. "We… we went scavenging and we found some green things Nori said we could eat… and some frogs." Apparently even on Ori's list frogs rank below green things. "They looked quite sad and sort of… sat there. Like they wanted to be eaten."

"Frogs?!"

Bofur laughs heartily at the hobbit's shocked outburst. "Aye Bilbo, have you not tried the famous dwarven dish 'depressed frog'? Crispy little frogs lovingly deep fried in batter… It's an eastern speciality, I believe…"

"Stop it! Stop it!" The hobbit has his fingers in his ears.

"Are you trying to say it's not a fair contest?"

"Oh no brother." Kíli has a wicked grin on his face. "Even up against Bombur's frogs you are still at a grave disadvantage."

"Well, wood-pigeon's got to be tastier than frog." Fíli looks expectantly at his brother. "Hand them over then, or we'll be having them for breakfast. And then I'd lose."

Kíli ignores the outstretched hand. "What are you making?"

"Stew."

"Stew?" Kíli still sounds dubious.

"Anyone can make stew. You just put everything in the pot and leave it."

Bilbo clears his throat. "Actually-"

"You take the feathers off first."

"Obviously." Fíli pauses. "Give them here then." A longer pause. "Kíli."

Bofur glances between the two glaring brothers. "Hand them over lad. Some of us are getting hungry."

"No."

"Why not?" Fíli looks rather hurt.

"Because you _can't _cook!"

"I can!"

"No you _can't_! Ask Ma! Ask Thorin!"

"You never let me try!"

"Exactly!"

A looming presence appears on the scene, and Kíli launches into an explanation before one is even asked for. "Fíli wants to cook!"

Thorin's expression darkens immediately. Bofur attempts to give a more impartial perspective of the matter. "Bombur and Fíli just have a bet going about who can cook the best meal, Thorin. It won't do any harm to let the lad try."

The cluster of increasingly hungry dwarves express approval at this statement, despite Thorin's _hmph. _

"Bombur can cook as usual." Kíli insists.

"No." The usually genial cook looks slightly surlier than normal and has a challenging glint in his eye, although his voice still remains level. "Apparently Fíli can cook better than me."

"Well, let him try then!"

"Yes! I'm hungry!"

"We're _all_ hungry!"

"Thorin," Balin cautions gently, worried that their king has slightly… unreasonable… views as to what behaviour to expect from his heirs. "It-"

"Alright." Thorin says suddenly.

"But-" Kíli splutters. "He can't…" The others ignore him stoically in favour of his brother, and Thorin presses a lump of bread into his hand. Kíli growls and drops the pigeons.

"Thank you." Fíli's attempt at politeness is strained.

"You're welcome." It's about as ungrateful as a mutter can be.

Thorin watches the two for a moment, one hunched up, sat with his back to the fire and his brother, the other zealously starting to pluck pigeons. After very little hesitation he takes the last stale loaf from the supplies they picked up two days ago and goes to sit next to his youngest heir. They'll learn.

* * *

Kíli's belly grumbes again, and his brother elbows him in the ribs.

"I did save you a portion."

"I know." Kíli wraps the blanket tighter around himself. But his brother doesn't shut up, continuing to whisper in his ear.

"Someone else ate it. They all thought it was really good."

"Mmhhuh."

"You were just hoping to get a bigger portion off Bombur next time."

"W'snot."

"Was."

"I am asleep. Go away."

Fíli huffs and turns over, but not without the last word. "See, I _can _cook after all!"

* * *

But sleep it is not to be.

Kíli first wakes up when someone trips over his legs, and has only just drifted off again when someone else decides to use his stomach as a stepping stone.

"Kíli?" A haggard voice sounds in his ear. "Kíli?"

"Go'way." Kíli mutters grumpily, endeavouring to bury his head under his cloak.

"Kíli… I feel really bad… I, I…"

Fíli's moans continue to penetrate the blanket, accompanied by what sounds like retching from the outskirts of the camp. Someone else kicks Kíli in the shins in their hurry to get up, at which point he gives in on trying to sleep and opens his eyes. His brother is kneeling over him, pushing at his shoulder.

"Kíli…"

"I know." He rolls over so he's out of range, pushing his brother back down to the floor. "You did this to yourself, remember?"

"Kí… will you help me?"

"Say it first."

"I can't cook." Fíli says meekly, before clutching his stomach and doubling over.

Kíli screws up his nose as the remains of the stew narrowly miss his pile of gear. "You never listen to me unless you're sick, do you?"

Somehow, his brother still manages a grin. "No."

**And now downstairs to supervise my own brother's cooking… Bad timing. **


	8. Deeds in the Dark

**I was going to write about dwarves bathing, as suggested by Jedi Ani Unduli, but this sprung to mind instead. Scenes and stories have a remarkable tendency to leave my head once written down, and it seems as though the image of the dwarves bathing wants to stick around a while longer… But be assured that when it does depart the resulting read will appear on here. **

_In which Bilbo tests out his new-found invisibility by spying on some of the company's younger members, and ends up getting far more than he bargained for._

**Deeds in the Dark**

Bilbo woke. He hadn't intended to wake. He had in fact been dreaming about lazing in the long grass under the old oak tree in the high summer, pipe in his hand and a pile of books stacked conveniently under his elbow. In reality he was wrapped up in a cloak that did little to disguise the fact that what he was lying on was far from the sweet-smelling sunlit turf of the Shire. Perhaps that was what had woken him. But he was used to rough ground by now, and it wasn't that cold, considering. No-one had woken him deliberately, because if so they would have certainly hurried him on by now, and it was unlikely by this stage that the usual tossing and turning and sudden kicks of dream-caught dwarves would wake him. No, it was his bladder. Which was annoying because it meant that at some point or other he would have to _do _something about it.

He leaves it for a minute or so, listening to the quiet conversation floating over from the fire on the edge of the camp. Fíli and Kíli. Just his luck. If he gets spotted by them and dragged into the conversation he won't get to go back to sleep for another hour or so.

That's when he has the idea. He doesn't _need_ to be spotted by them.

Smiling quietly to himself Bilbo slips his magic ring onto his finger. He may as well practice with it, after all. He's not sure whether or not he can sneak past a dragon yet, but if he can escape the dwarves' notice that is at least a start. He makes a private bet that he can manage it easily – the lookouts are listening for orcs and goblins after all, not hobbits.

It goes with great success at first. The pair don't even bat an eyelid as Bilbo pads past them and into the thicker woods. Not too far from the path, of course. It's only on his way back that a dried twig snaps underneath his foot and he freezes, accidentally rustling the bushes a little more. Curse the pine needles and the mulch – he's normally far quieter than this. He peers out awkwardly between the branches up towards the glow of the firelight. One of the figures has his head pillowed on the other's shoulder and Bilbo sags with relief. Not that it would matter that much if they spotted him or anything. It's not as though he's eavesdropping.

Soft voices float down with the ash on the breeze, away from the camp.

"_That_'s home really though, too."

"Suits me. You can be king of Ered Luin, I'll be king of Erebor."

"No."

"Fine. I'll be King Under the Mountain, you be King Over the Mountain."

"Better."

"Home is wherever you are, brother."

"Or wherever Uncle says it is."

"Or wherever _I _say it is."

Bilbo shifts uneasily, pine needles shifting underfoot. He should probably go.

"Hmm?"

"Well, if I'm king…"

"Where would you move us to?"

"Not sure."

"North. Not too far."

"North-west."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not the one half-asleep with my ear pressed to someone's shoulder."

"Fine. How far?"

"Forty?"

Bilbo does not understand any of this and isn't sure he wants too. Ducking under a bough he heads off at a tangent away from the pair, intending to circle around back to the camp. Another dead bough arches under his feet in his hurry and cracks sharply. He freezes again, momentarily, then takes another cautious step forwards, only to feel a sudden biting pain in his arm. The feel of trickling blood, an invisible wound and hurrying footfalls all contribute to his panic, and he wrenches the ring off.

"That was not forty paces!"

"You have longer legs!" Fíli looms above him out of the dark, twin blades flashing in his hands. "Bilbo?!"

"Yes." The hobbit replies absent-mindedly, gaze transfixed by the arrow-shaft piercing his arm.

"How-?" Kíli begins, but his brother shoves him out of the way.

"Just get him back to the fire."

Bilbo finds himself sat exactly where he hadn't wanted to be not so long ago. It seems a lot more preferable now.

"Just a flesh-wound. Missed the bone and most of the muscle. Went right through." Kíli snaps the arrow head off to allow him to draw the shaft out. "That was my best arrow too."

"Can… can you not wake Oín?"

"That was the plan." Fíli admits. "It might be for the best if we don't let Uncle know Kíli's been shooting friends again." Bilbo thinks Fíli might have been punched by his brother for that, if he hadn't been busy cleaning his wound. "What were you doing out there in the dark?"

"Just..."

"Watering the trees?" Kíli suggests, with an accuracy that matches his arrows.

"We didn't see you. We thought you were a goblin-scout, or worse."

"I wanted to practice being a burglar." Bilbo admits.

"Not bad work. We heard you when you started snapping twigs. Did you steal anything?"

"Only an arrow. I've not really done this before. You all know that, don't you?"

"Like us." Fíli mutters, pulling bandages out of the side of a pack.

"Pardon?"

"We're not really all that skilled in this warrior business. We've been in a skirmish or two, but no battles. Kíli's shot enough people to know how to deal with the consequences though."

"You seem a good shot to me." Bilbo says politely, trying to ignore the throbbing in his arm. He's beginning to believe it's actually not as bad as he first thought it was.

"Thank you." Kíli pauses. "And sorry."

"No. It was my fault. You were just doing your duty."

Kíli grins. "Good target practice."

"And I learnt a lesson or two about sneaking around in forests." Bilbo resists the urge to rub his arm. "Like not doing it."

"Perhaps we can help you." Bilbo looks at the young dwarf in surprise. "In exchange for making the watch more interesting, and practice shooting blind. And my favourite arrow."

"That's not quite-"

Kíli ties the final knot with relish and pulls Bilbo's sleeve back down. "You can start by stealing Thorin's boots. That's _got _to be good practice."

**Updates will most likely be sporadic from now on, since I'm back at work and I'm also not busy with another story I've started posting (because I just couldn't get enough Durin out of just this one, obviously). But I promise I'll write when an idea springs to mind. More ideas are, of course, always welcome. **

**And thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far! It's far more enjoyable writing for an audience I know appreciates it (or at least some of you seem to do, which is something).**


	9. Innocence is no defence

**Sorry guys, but once I wrote that last line I just couldn't stop. There had to be more. And so it is with great regret that I postpone the dwarves' bath once again (and boy are they getting smelly) until I come to a point where I can write it down. (Probably after I've posted the next chapter for my other story, I'm afraid. Women and children first, as it were.)**

**Wow. This turned out looong. **

_In which an act of petty theft is committed at another's instigation, the crime undergoes a thorough investigation, the accused is apprehended, questioned under mild duress, and denies all knowledge. In other words, Kíli hates being the youngest. _

Innocence is no defence

Slowly and carefully. That was the thing.

Travelling dwarves have a tendency to keep their boots on whilst sleeping. This is practical if one has to get up suddenly in the middle of the night – for instance to answer a call of nature or to bash a goblin over the head. It is, however, far less practical if you have been tasked with stealing a pair of boots. Only temporarily though, of course. It's not really stealing so much as… borrowing. Yes, borrowing.

Travelling dwarves also have a tendency not to wash their feet (although admittedly this tendency is also often shared by dwarves living happily at home), which can make stealing a pair of boots off one unpleasant. Fortunately the rewards of this particular little job make endurance worthwhile.

Now, where to put the spoils? Next to one's own bed was stupid of course. Better to put them near the one who'd asked for this to be done in the first place. Though they wouldn't be so stupid as to do that themselves, and Thorin would realise that. In which case…

* * *

It should at this point be explained that the game 'steal Thorin's boots' has a long and privileged position in the history of the line of Durin. In the years when his sister-sons were still young there was barely a family occasion where Thorin had not at some point had to wrestle off an attempted-boot thief hidden under the table. They never managed it, of course. He always had warning well in advance: "You try it!" "No you try it!" "No, you try it!"…

Sometimes when they were older they still did it just to annoy him, but he still always won, just as Fíli always won the argument about who should be the one to try it. As I have said, it was a very longstanding tradition.

* * *

"KÍLI!"

Bofur stretches, elbow scraping a tree root. "Always the best way to start the morning."

Stealing your uncle's boots is all very well when you're seven and you fail. When you're in your seventies and you actually achieve it, in the middle of the group of people of whom your victim is supposed to be the noble leader, in the middle of the quest…

"What?"

Thorin is scrabbling around his sleeping spot in a rather undignified way. "Where are my boots?"

Bofur turns to the stirring figure beside him. "Is it just me, or was that something of a non sequitur?"

Dried leaves scatter as Dwalin shakes his head. "The lad's very keen on cleaning people's boots while they're not looking."

"Oh, aye?"

"Aye."

"I shall have to leave mine out then."

"Kíli!"

"I don't know. I didn't take them." Kíli kicks his brother awake. "Fíli, what have you done with uncle's boots?"

Even half-asleep Fíli is still skilled at dodging his loving brother's kicks, and his accusations too. "Thorin's boots? That was your job, brother. We had a bet."

"No, it wasn't. I told you I wouldn't."

"Didn't." Comes the lazy reply.

"Did." Kíli is forced to respond.

"I thought you wanted the burglar to do it?"

"You asked the halfling to steal my boots?"

"No- well, yes. As burglar practice." Kíli adds, as though this negates the problem. His uncle's brow furrows.

"Um- Am I interrupting something?" The hobbit in question hops up with a look of distaste on his face. "Only someone's left their muddy boots in my bed and I'd really quite like it if they'd-"

Thorin stomps off, which is less impressive without his boots on.

"See, you can burgle things after all, Master Burglar."

The puzzlement on Bilbo's face slowly passes into realisation. "No, no, that wasn't me. I didn't steal them."

"Of course you-"

"No." Thorin breaks in. "He may be a good burglar, but he's a useless liar."

Bilbo isn't quite sure what to say in reply to that.

"You were on watch last night, yes?"

"Yes. But so was Fíli. And other people, later."

"And still he blames you." Bofur murmurs, which gets a chuckle out of the others.

Thorin turns to Fíli instead. "Which of you went to bed first?"

"Ah, me. Kíli was the one who woke the next pair."

Nori assents to this, and Bifur nods his head in an ambling way as well.

"What's all the bother about anyway?" Bilbo asks. "I mean – they're only boots. And you've got them back. Shouldn't we just, well, set off?"

"The problem, Master Baggins, is that he tried to blame you."

Bilbo splutters. "Yes, but well, I _am _the burglar."

"Look, I swear by Durin's name I didn't do it."

Fíli elbows his brother in the ribs. "Don't forswear yourself, brother. You know it only makes him angrier."

"Fíli, I _didn't._"

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Di-"

Thorin separates the pair by the scruffs of their necks. "I did not bring you along to behave like _children."_

"He-"

"Kíli, if you even dare try say 'he started it' I swear I will finish it!"

"How?" Bofur suddenly finds the eyes of all three of them fixed accusingly on him. "Ah, are we not all meant to be listening to the family squabble? And no, before you ask, it wasn't me that did it."

Thorin attempts to turn his attention back to his wayward sister-sons, but: "Are you going to threaten to thrash them like Dís does?" Ori asks the question with considerable interest.

"Oh." Dwalin sounds disappointed. "Doesn't she actually thrash them?"

"I don't see why you're including both of us in this."

"Because I for one haven't actually done any-"

"KÍLI!"

"But I HAVEN'T!"

"You DID!"

"I-"

"No, it was me."

This statement produces a convenient pause, allowing Fíli to explain more fully. "I got up after he'd fallen asleep and paid Nori to do it." He gives Nori a meaningful look.

"Going to pay."

Fíli rummages in his belt pouch and tosses something over. "Paid."

"Right," says Thorin slowly. "So Kíli asked Bilbo to it and then you paid Nori to do it, who then hid them next to Bilbo-"

"Because then you'd think Kíli did it." Nori explains reasonably. "Which you did."

Thorin once again resists the urge to bury his head in his hands. He has a feeling it looks unkingly. "I should probably thrash you all."

"…Although actually he's only telling you this to try and get his brother out of trouble, which is why he's just paid me off to support his story."

"That's not true!"

"Fíli?"

"I think the hobbit did it after all, trying to prove he's a burglar. How did they get into his bed?"

"Alright, it was me! Not Fíli, me!"

"Now _you're_ trying to get _me_ out of trouble."

"Yes, but-"

"Well? Who was it?"

"Look!" Bilbo half-shouts. "I've got an idea. How about you all agree that Thorin went sleep-walking and decided to take his boots off and put them in my bed?"

Confused silence settles over the clearing. "Aye, I saw that." Balin affirms. "On the last watch. It slipped my mind before. Oín, didn't you…?"

"Yes, I saw it too."

"Right." Thorin straightens up. "That's all settled then."

A mumbled chorus of 'yeses' arises. Most of the dwarves are still three sentences behind.

"Good. And I want to make this very clear – there is to be NO MORE SLEEPWALKING in the future."

**Oh dear. If only they had a consulting detective dragon to sort it all out. No, I refuse to write that. That would delay the baths indefinitely, although the smell would then mean that no one would dare attack them on the way to Erebor… Ok, I need music. See you guys. **

**Also, I would be interested if you'd review saying who you thought was to blame, because I swear I changed my mind about six times in the course of this and I now have NO IDEA at all. :D**


	10. Bath time

**These seem to get longer and longer every time. Must be all those fortifying reviews you keep sending me (thank you guys!). That or the mounting revision. Thanks to Jedi Ani Anduli for the prompt and inspiration for this – yes, it's her you've got to thank for the one you've apparently all been waiting for… **

_In which the dwarves finally have a bath, poor Bilbo is terribly shocked by it all, Fíli, Kíli and Ori go to great efforts to shock him more, Dwalin proposes an ill-fated competition, and Thorin is not amused. _

Bath-time

He hadn't really thought… Hadn't given it much thought at all really. It wasn't something you really thought about when you set off, because you had the word 'adventure!' resounding in your head. He'd never really considered the practicalities of it before. The books didn't really go into it at all - it was all just filler really, everyday things. I mean, obviously he hadn't just expected that they'd all go on a nice long walk and find a mountain, hopefully one with no dragons in it, it's just that he hadn't really thought about how all the eating and sleeping and so on would happen in between whatever adventures they had (Bilbo was still a little hazy and hesitant about this aspect too) on the way.

To be fair, by the third day or so he was definitely wondering when they would stop and get properly clean. By the end of the week it had been reduced to 'if'. He'd never really considered 'how', just sort of assumed that they'd stop off somewhere, probably an inn, and he could relax in a nice hot bath tub for the evening and get some peace and quiet for once.

But this… this was _indecent._

"Come on in! It's fine, really!" Kíli lies, trying not to shiver.

"No it's not! It's cold and wet and-"

"It's a river, Bilbo." Bofur points out helpfully, taking his pipe out of his mouth. "They are supposed to be cold and wet, you know."

"Yes, but-"

"But?"

"But you're all… you're not wearing anything!" Bilbo wishes he had support for this. The dwarves can be insufferable, and Gandalf has disappeared off to goodness knows where - probably to go and conjure up a tub of hot water for himself and some fluffy grey towels.

"That's the way you do it. You wash the clothes, you leave them to dry, and in the meantime you wash yourselves." Bofur feels he might be being over-patient here.

"How can you tell, anyway?" Ori asks bluntly. "You've got your hands over your eyes!"

Gloín and Balin join in the argument. "The water's waist-deep anyway!"

"No one'll mind if you leave your shirt on."

Bilbo pokes a toe into the water, shivering already in just his shirt (he had already been reluctantly persuaded to ditch most of the rest of his clothes so they could be washed with the others). He kept his hand over his eyes, which is why he didn't see the slight nod Fíli gave. "I still don't think I really-"

SPLASH

The dwarves let out a ragged cheer as Dwalin hauled the spluttering hobbit to the surface. Bilbo found his feet and immediately lost them again as Fíli and Kíli plunged back into the river next to him.

"You did that deliberately! And it is _not _warm!"

"Right on both counts." Fíli leans back and tries to float on the surface of the water, one foot still on the bottom. Bedraggled, miserable and embarrassed Bilbo looks away towards the line of disgustingly cheerful older dwarves all sunning themselves by the bank, waist-deep in cold water, and passing the pipe-weed along. In doing so he gives Kíli just the opportunity he needs to jump on him again.

"That was deliberate too." Fíli comments as Bilbo surfaces.

"I take it hobbits don't go in much for communal bathing, then?" Bofur comments, after giving Bilbo a moment to get his breath back.

"No, it's not really… really seen as…"

"Respectable?"

"Yes. That's the word." Bilbo raises his hands. "I don't mean any harm by it, I just… don't like it much."*

"Well, don't look at it then."

Bilbo tries to glare at the grinning Fíli but turns his gaze away fairly sharpish. "I'm not."

"You were though." Kíli supplies helpfully. "It didn't hurt you, did it?" He attempts to emulate his brother's position and fails.

"He's got one leg on the bottom." Ori confirms, wading out to them. Kíli tries again and, with some splashing, manages to achieve a fairly nonchalant-looking floating position.

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"We're just relaxing. Sunning ourselves on the river."

"Look, I can do it too!"

"Ori!" Bilbo, unable to turn anywhere, decides to close his eyes instead, and immediately gets pounced on again.

"I love doing that." Kíli says happily. "Bilbo! Close your eyes again!"

"No!" Bilbo tries desperately to get out of this. "Where's Thorin?"

"Being kingly." Comes the cryptic answer. Bofur is never much help.

Fíli is slightly more informative. "He decided he didn't want to bathe with the rest of us. He's downstream somewhere." An amused look settles on his face. "Why, did you want to-"

"NO!"

SPLASH

"Hah! You looked away again." Both Kíli and Ori have ridiculous grins plastered across their faces.

A warning flies in from the watching audience. "Lads! Be careful! The water gets deeper in the middle."

"We can swim!" Fíli boasts confidently.

Ori joins in proudly. "I can swim too. Can you swim, Bilbo?"

"No one's letting me keep my feet long enough to try!"

"What? You can't? You can't swim?"

"Not r- STOP doing that! STOP trying to push me under!"

"Course you can swim. Everyone can swim." Kíli seems very sure of this.

"Why don't you swim somewhere else then?" Oín grumbles. He's getting splashed far more than is to his liking.

Dwalin proposes an idea. "Race to the other side and back. First one to return to me gets…"

"… To not have to do it again!" Bofur concludes with a grin.

Fíli just shrugs. "Where are we starting from?"

"Ah – that large rock there."

Bilbo finds himself suddenly being towed out beyond his depth. "Wh-? No!"

"Come on, it's fine."

"No it's not!"

"Look, I told you, everyone can swim. It's just… natural."

"It's just like walking." Ori adds, trying not to lose his footing on the slimy stones of the river bed. "Only in water."

Bilbo clings on to the rock tightly, already unsure as to how he's going to get back onto dry land. "No it's not." He has a strong inkling that his words are falling on deaf ears – or ones that are full of water, at any rate. "Have any of you actually swum before?"

Fíli shrugs non-committedly and strikes out into the deeper water. Kíli follows almost instantly, pushing off hard from the rock into the middle of the river, followed by a wildly splashing Ori.

Bilbo waits for them to resurface, fingers growing numb as he clings to the rock. He's not an expert, but he's fairly sure that this is not how swimming is meant to look.

"HELP! Dwalin! Balin! Anyone! HELP!"

* * *

Thorin was somewhat surprised to find a portion of his company being carried downstream past him, but willingly joined in the rescue attempt, and between them he and Dwalin dredged up the three younger dwarves to lie coughing on the shore. The other dwarves joined them shortly, having regained their clothes and the hobbit, whom Bofur had had to prise from the rock.

"What happened?"

Dwalin has to explain, since the dwarves the question is aimed at are still coughing up river water. "I challenged them to see who could swim to the other side of the river and back fastest."

"Did you not think about the current? Did _none_ of you think about the current?"

"To be fair," Dori breaks in, "it wasn't so much the current that was the problem so much as the fact that none of them could swim."

"Did they not say that they could not swim?"

"On the contrary, they all assured us that they could."

"I didn't." Bilbo points out starkly. "I told you all I couldn't."

"I _can_ swim." Kíli pants. "I was definitely… swimming at… at the end."

"Me too."

"You were _drowning _at the end_._"

Ori shakes his rat-tails in denial at this. "I _can _swim. I couldn't before, but I can now."

"Anyway, we didn't drown." Fíli says reasonably. "Moving through water without drowning is swimming, isn't it?"

"The only reason you didn't drown is because we dragged your sorry hides out of there before you could!"

Kíli stretches out in the sunlight in a way Thorin is sure is designed to be deliberately annoying, an opinion confirmed when he makes his final comment.

"It was fun though. Shall we go and try it again?"**

* * *

A.N.

*Obviously, the hobbits all have baths together at Crickhollow in _The Fellowship of the Ring_, but Bilbo is a _very _respectable hobbit, and baths tend to have more soap-suds than rivers anyway. Just thought I'd put that in there before anyone picked me up on it.

** For the occasion upon this happening, see Tolkien.

**Oh dear, this is the second chapter I've put up today that involves me being mean to the boys. I do love them really. **

**And for those interested, yes I do accept requests for short stories, though whether I have the time to write them or not is another matter entirely. But it's worth a try! Though saying that I'm already raring to write up my next idea…**

**Drat. In all the confusion I forgot to hand them a bar of soap.**


	11. Exploitation

**Whoah, this got long. Not sure whether that's a good thing or not, and trying not to make comparisons to the length of the film…**

_In which Fíli exploits his brother for the good of the company (and his own profit), Kíli gets his own back, and Ori is made immensely happy. _

Exploitation

"Oín, Gloín, you can order fresh supplies. Tell them we'll pay them when we collect."

"Remember we need a new cooking pot." Bombur adds. The old one had fallen off a pony and rolled into a ravine two days ago, and no one had had the heart to try retrieving it.

Thorin nods in agreement. "Fíli, Kíli, you can sell our wares. Make sure you get a good price. They will not have seen much dwarvish craftsmanship before in this town."

"Thorin, are you sure?" Gloín is looking sceptical. "We have a lot to sell." This is true. It's the first time they've managed to enter a town on a market day, and several of the dwarves have been spending most of their spare hours whittling or tinkering away. But Gloín's plan to keep the company financially stable on their journey to Erebor (it will all be fine once they regain it, of course) heavily depends on them actually selling their wares.

"They're perfectly competent." Thorin replies a trifle tartly. "Fíli has very good business sense."

"And Kíli…?"

"I keep him amused."

Bofur scratches his head under his hat. "I'm still not certain…"

But Thorin stills him with a hand. "You'll see." He gets a shrug in response.

"We'll sell it all for you." Fíli claims confidently.

Gloín looks him up and down sceptically. "All? I'll tell you what lads, I'll wager you a third of the profits that you can't." That's one good way to ensure they don't make a loss.

Fíli has a calculating gleam in his eye. "You're on."

"Hang on." Ori pushes forward to the front of the group. "You haven't let me add my contribution yet."

Gloín rolls his eyes, then all of a sudden looks inexplicably happy.

Kíli takes the offering in his hands. "What is it?"

"It's a snood."

"A what?"

"A snood. You can wear it like a scarf. Or a hat. Or a hood."

Fíli eyes the dirty grey knitted rag with some trepidation. "Of course, since it was only added to the pile after we agreed-"

"No. All of it. You have to sell all of it. That's what we agreed."

* * *

"I see what you mean." Bofur leans back on the bench, surveying the square as he shares a pint with Thorin. When the innkeeper had looked down at them he had tried to offer them halves, but Thorin's glare had soon set that matter straight. "They're actually quite good at it, aren't they?" Even as he speaks another woman stops in front of the make-shift table they're using as a stall, towing a child behind her. "Or at selling to women, at least."

Thorin just takes a swig from his tankard, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Why is it? I mean, Kíli hasn't even got a proper beard yet. No self-respecting dwarf-woman would even take a second glance at him. And Fíli's hardly, well…"

The sound of Kíli's laughter peals out across the square, apparently prompted by one of Fíli's jokes. It turns Bofur's head, and by the look of it several others as well.

Thorin shrugs. "I do not know what it is. But it is most profitable."

* * *

Fíli smiles pleasantly up at their customer. "Would you like to take a look at this fine garment as well, madam? It's of the finest dwarven make, and only three pennies."

The lady runs her fingers over it tentatively. "I wasn't aware that the dwarves were famed for their knitting."

"Misconceptions. There are many things people do not know about us."

"What is it?"

"A snood."

"A what?"

Kíli coughs. "It's a sort of scarf-hat thing. It's… traditional."

"Ah, no thank you. I think I'll just take these."

"Fíli!" Ori darts up to them just as their customer is leaving. "Have you sold it yet? Look, I've found some more yarn for another one and everything."

"Not yet." Ori's smile droops.

"I think we might be setting the price too high." Fíli says cautiously. "No one can afford to buy it, that is."

"Oh. Well, good luck!"

* * *

"Fíli?"

"Yes?"

"We have not got all that much longer."

"And?"

Kíli sifts his money back into his belt pouch uneasily and hands his brother's back over. "We still have most of it left to sell. But we've already made enough that we cannot afford to let Gloín win."

Fíli's face darkens. "We don't have enough to pay him off?"

Kíli shakes his head.

"Right, right… Take your shirt off."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it. You'll see."

"But-"

"Uncle's not hanging around watching any more, and all the others are gone. Just take it off, Kíli." Fíli watches as his brother reluctantly strips off his tunic and undershirt and folds them neatly in a pile behind the table. "And stop shivering."

* * *

"Stop scowling too."

"But you made me take my shirt off, and I'm cold. And you still haven't told me why you made me do it."

"It'll get us more trade."

"How?"

"You'll see, if you stop glowering and scaring them all away."

"Well what do you want me to do?"

"Smile. Grin or something. That grin you have when you've just thought up something. Anything. Just stop looking like uncle brooding."

Kíli frowns, then smirks at the thought that this is exactly what his brother doesn't want him to do.

"That'll do."

"Now what?"

"Find a passer-by to use it on. Preferably a female one."

"I thought as much."

"And try not to look as though you're scanning for targets."

Kíli flexes his fingers and looses an imaginary arrow. The woman walking past gives them a strange look and he flashes her a grin, only for her to turn to the stall on the other side of the street instead. "See. You're wrong."

The woman casually leaves the other trader, swinging round towards them as though she'd been intending to do so all along. Fíli leans back and props his feet up on the table. "Fear not, dear brother. Our fortunes are assured."

* * *

"Stop playing with them."

"They're toys. I'm demonstrating."

Unable to resist the temptation Fíli picks up a carved horse and rider himself and uses it to charge down his brother's. "Fíli! Don't break them!"

Giggles sound from above them and they look up to see a girl examining some of Bifur's carvings. "Did you make all these?"

"Ah, mostly not, no. They're by… family and friends. We're just selling them on their behalf."

"While they all get drunk in a tavern somewhere." Kíli adds. "Alas, we can only join them when we've sold all of these."

"That's seems a little harsh."

Kíli puts on his best pitiful expression. "Our uncle said we had to."

"We're the youngest, you see."

That leads to a conversation, which leads to several purchases, to the point where Fíli thinks it might be worth a go at cracking the greatest problem facing them. "I think we might just make it now, if only we can sell this."

"What is it?"

"A snood."

"A what?"

"A snood. Here, Kíli!" His brother turns away from his own departing customer. "Demonstrate."

"Demonstrate what?"

"The snood."

Kíli looks affronted. "Do I have to?"

"Do you want us to eat tonight or not?" The lass really seems to be buying this cruel uncle thing. Maybe they'll try it again, so long as Thorin isn't around anywhere.

Kíli pulls the shapeless thing over his head sulkily.

"Ah, actually, no, I think I'll just take these. Sorry I couldn't help more."

* * *

Fíli takes account of their remaining stock and does a few calculations. "Take your boots off too."

His brother obeys him more readily this time. "When are you going to stop? Should I start telling people that you're making me sell my clothes because we're not making enough money?"

"No! We'd never sell anything then!"

"I don't understand this, Fíli. Why do they all keep looking at me the way that… I don't know, like the way they look at Bombur back home? Why?"

"I told you, brother, the women here have strange tastes."

"They quite like you too though. Why don't you-"

"Have you sold it yet?"

Fíli is quite glad that whatever Kíli's question was going to be has been interrupted, but he's not quite sure how to answer Ori's question either. "No. The best is always the last to sell, you know."

"Oh. Why isn't Kíli wearing a shirt?"

"To demonstrate just how warm your snood is."

Ori seems to accept this as an answer and leaves. Fíli has a horrible feeling that he's just scared away most of their custom.

"Right, take that thing off and go buy some cakes off that woman sat opposite us – that one who's been glaring at us for the past hour. And try and tempt her over to come and look at this lot while you're at it."

"You said you wouldn't make me take anything else off."

"Yes, but you didn't have the snood on to start with. And it looks ridiculous."

Kíli tosses it to him. "Maybe we can just give it away. Or throw it away."

Fíli shudders. "Imagine if Ori found it."

"Fair enough."

Kíli returns with two warm cakes a few minutes later. "She says that you should pay your share for yours. And that I should put my shirt on and stop listening to you."

"No. You've got to keep it off. Otherwise we won't win the bet."

"But I'm cold! Why can't you do it for a bit?"

"Because I'm the one making us money!"

"She said you were exploiting me."

"I'm not. I'm just making the best use of the resources we've got available."

"Well, I'm not sitting here without a shirt unless you do it too!"

Eventually a compromise is reached, even if it's not a compromise favourable to Kíli.

"One of us has still got to try and look at least slightly professional."

Kíli remains silent in protest. Fíli has at least stripped down to his shirt and has consented to leave the split neck wide open, but he has also hidden Kíli's shirt and tunic, which Kíli deems unfair.

"And don't scowl!"

"They're looking at you rather than me now." Kíli mutters under his breath.

"What did you expect? You're skinnier and you don't spend as much time in the forge. I thought that was what you wanted, anyway?"

But Kíli's attention has been turned elsewhere. "Good afternoon, madam. We have some excellent bargains today. Buy any of these carvings and we'll throw a snood in for free!"

* * *

They look at it glumly. Fíli rather imagines that it looks glum as well. "We've sold everything else. If only Ori hadn't brought his cursed knitting needles along! We're bankrupt, Kíli. We're going to have to get Thorin to bail us out."

Kíli nudges him, apparently worried by something more than just the prospect of explaining the situation to their uncle. "Quick, act innocent! That scowling lady from opposite is heading over."

Fíli is about to think up a witty reply, but their final customer of the day – their final chance – reaches them first. "How much for the knitted… thing?"

"Eh?"

"This."

"Oh, the snood! Three pennies."

"Three pennies? It's not worth a half penny."

"Two then."

"Half a penny."

"Just a penny, then?"

"Look, it's unravelling."

Fíli throws up his hands in the air. "Alright, have it for free!"

"For free? For free? When you bought goods off me? No, I'm only trying to help you out, boys." The woman grins wickedly, and Fíli realises that she's not as old as Kíli's comments had led him to believe. "I'll have it in exchange for a kiss off each of you."

Fíli tries hard not to gape. "N- what?"

"A kiss of each of you."

"I heard what you said! I can't let you do that to my little brother! That would be exploitation!"

"Really? But your business seems to be largely based on your exploitation of your little brother. Tell you what – three kisses off you and give him his shirt back. Then I'll take it. Afterwards."

Fíli bites his lip. "Fine."

Kíli catches the bundle and the look of bemusement on his face turns into a grin as he watches his brother being fair-forcibly dragged away into the nearest snicket.

They return in less time than he was expecting. Fíli looks rather pink. "Where is it?" he asks hurriedly and slightly breathlessly.

"I sold it."

"What? The snood?"

"Yes. For four pennies." Kíli gives the lady an apologetic bow and a snide grin.

"Who in Durin's name bought it for that much? Did Ori decide he wanted it back after all?"

"No. I bought it." Kíli receives a look of incomprehension from his brother. "Well, it's been the only thing keeping me warm most of the afternoon."

"You can't buy it! They'll say that's cheating!"

"Fine." Kíli stops fondling the snood and offers it back to their smirking customer. "My lady, I am happy to offer you this snood for the price of another of your cakes – and I'll throw in my brother's services in helping you take your stall down for free."

* * *

Even Gloín has to admit that he's impressed, and, true to his word, counts out a third of the money without too much grumbling.

"Who bought my snood?" Ori asks eagerly.

Kíli is about to launch into the whole story, but his brother butts in first. "Kíli bought it in the end, Ori, he became so attached to it. But then we got given such a good offer that I made him sell it on."

Kíli is about to correct some of the finer details of this, but is prevented from doing so by his brother's elbow in his ribs and Ori's joyous response. "_You_ bought it, Kíli? You should have told me! I could have just made you one. In fact-" Ori fishes around inside his bag to triumphantly produce a ball of already tangled grey yarn, "- I _can_ make you one!"

Fíli grins. Despite a few comebacks this is rapidly turning into a very profitable day. He leans his head on his little brother's shoulder as he turns away in dismay in order to whisper in his ear: "Remember, Kíli – don't scowl."

* * *

**Umm, yeah. Basically, I saw my lovely lad shirtless and in between admiring I came up with a story idea and decided I just had to get these two doing it too. But please don't tell any of them. It probably counts as exploitation. And the last chapter too. Umm… you don't mind, do you? Only I feel a bit bad about it now. Morals must be getting to me. If you don't see any problems with it please do tell me, because you'll make me feel better about it if I do it again…**

**Also, ideas! I need more ideas! And a longer work concentration span! Bah! The pit of exam depression lurks ahead. (The pit of exam depression is decidedly bad for cheerful stories, alas.)**


	12. Daisy Chains

**Hah, your lovely reviews made this both earlier and longer. There's positive reinforcement in action for you!**

**(Now updated to include mention of an actual bet. Thank you BM originally!)**

_In which brotherly mischief occurs, Thorin has a strange awakening, Bilbo gets a make-over, and the dwarves smell nice for once._

Daisy Chains

Thorin awoke and for a moment or two wondered if he was indeed still asleep. He blinks, but the figure before him persists in going blithely about his business, and so Thorin just looks on perplexed as one of his most loyal advisors and trusted watchmen sits cross-legged on the floor, calmly making daisy chains. "Balin?"

"Thorin!" Dwalin's voice is more cheerful than usual. "You slept well?"

"Yes." Thorin concedes, wondering if there was some reason as to why he should not have done that he should be aware of. Both brothers have a glint in their eye that makes him think there is. He throws Balin another enquiring glance, but the old dwarf just dips his head, attentively splitting stems with his thumbnail and chuckling to himself.

"Nice crown, Thorin."

Thorin moves him hand upwards at Dwalin's comment and, finding something balanced on his head, lifts it carefully down. Apparently dwarven craftsmanship extends to jewellery made out of vegetation – the pair have somehow managed to fashion a double-row of daisies, using the support of some kind of tough grass, with some inset flowers that Thorin does not recognise in between. "Very nice indeed."

"Put it back on then. We spent the longest on yours."

Looking round the camp, Thorin can see that he's not the only one who's been visited in the night. All of the company have at least one daisy chain around their necks or heads, presumably depending on what was in reach, and several also appear to have had their hair or beards rebraided in order to incorporate a floral element. Bombur's beard and Bofur's hat seem to have received particular attention, but nothing quite compares to his crown.

"Impressive." Thorin concedes. "But you don't seem to be sporting any yourselves."

Balin completes the circlet and hands it to his brother, and then at once starts another. "We didn't want you to make the mistake of thinking we were not the ones responsible."

"Taking the credit for your own craftsmanship?"

Dwalin's tattooed head looks a lot less intimidating with its latest addition. "You do tend to jump to conclusions concerning things of this ilk, Thorin. And we thought we might have a little fun ourselves for once, rather than just watching the lads."

Thorin locates his sister-sons, who have morphed into a single clump whilst asleep, as they have a tendency to do. He's considered speaking to them more than once about it, but having watched them whilst on guard duty one night he can confirm that the process does not appear to be conscious. Fíli's arm migrates around his brother the same way his right hand stays close to his sword pommel. Besides, it does stop Kíli kicking anyone else. Though that would be a little hard at the moment anyway, since Balin and Dwalin have somehow contrived to use daisy chains to more or less bind the pair together in their sleep. "I think it would be quite a struggle to blame them this time" Thorin admits. "Did they really not wake?"

Balin hangs a garland round his own neck. "Fíli woke, but he seemed to find it rather amusing."

"It _is _rather amusing."

"Glad you approve. It was Balin's idea."

Balin nods quietly, failing to mention that he and his brother also have a series of bets running concerning how each of their friends will respond and how long each of their accoutrements will last. He's already won money on Thorin. "It kept us amused."

Thorin laughs unexpectedly, then plucks at his crown. "But do I really have to wear this all day?"

* * *

Bilbo kneels over the gently rippling stream, running his fingers through his tangled curls in an attempt to dredge out the daisies the dwarves seem to have knotted in there, and alternately sneezing at the pollen. Gandalf just chuckles as he puffs on his pipe watching him, which the hobbit considers less than helpful.

"When I saw you all this morning I thought for a moment that I was mistaken, and that I was in fact travelling with a host of elves."

Bilbo makes no reply, concentrating instead on freeing a buttercup. Someone had clearly thought it amusing to stick flowers between his toes as well, and dwarves know their business when it comes to knots and braids.

"I don't think I have ever seen dear Oín look so grumpy – you as well for that matter, my dear fellow."

"I don't like people creeping up on me in my sleep." Bilbo replies shortly.

"And was it not worth it for the sight of a dwarven king refusing to give up his frankly ridiculous flowery crown because to do so he would have to relinquish it to his heir? Bilbo, I thought you a more mellow sort than that."

Again, Bilbo does not reply, partly because he still wishes Gandalf would be of greater assistance in his current predicament, , and partly because he had in fact rather enjoyed the argument over inheritance rights that had sprung up (followed by the argument about who now had the most finely decorated beard), and partly because he is sneezing again. As for the final part, well, Gandalf is a wizard, and Bilbo has learnt enough now to know that a wizard always knows far more than he says he does, and that he always, always does as he will, whatever that may happen to be. And for that reason he sees no need to mention the fact that the wizard in question is currently sporting a hat decorated with beautiful circlet of tastefully-picked bright yellow daffodils.

No, no reason at all.

**Ah, there's something about the image of Dwalin with a daisy chain on his head that just makes me want to break out laughing. If anyone wants to draw it for me I'll love you forever. I've been getting quite a few hints that people would like to get him a bit more involved, so I did. Plus, he's fun. Also Gandalf. Someone asked for Gandalf (who's annoyingly hard to write. Bah. hope it reads like him). Well, anyway, there you go.**

**Louisiana Stephenic has given me a great idea, but I need a bit of help with it. I need ideas for various ways in which the different dwarfs would try to annoy Thorin (a dangerous sport, I know). I'm blown for ideas at the moment, having spent a fair amount of time this week deliberately annoying my own friends (regrettably in ways that won't transfer very well to this fandom). Meh. I'll make sure to credit anything I do use, just in case the taste of fame is tempting…**


	13. Mimicry

**Errr… this is really just a short one to apologise in advance for the fact that I'm not really going to be publishing much for quite a while (rest of the month, pretty much) apart from my other story (which is basically prewritten, hence it's allowed). Busyness levels have increased to Gandalf level – I'm never sure whether I should be running round after various different groups of people, poring over ancient documents, communing with ghosts moths etc, attempting to impart what passes for wisdom, or fighting off the dark forces of evil. In my free moments I will try and entertain, with smoke rings and what not, but I really cannot promise anything. **

_In which Kíli is persuaded to try and impersonate his uncle to his face. Unsurprisingly, alcohol is involved._

Mimicry

Bilbo swallows. "That's really… that's really quite good. And scary."

"Really?" Fíli gives him an odd look. "We've always just found it amusing."

"Yes, but it's scary how similar they look." Bilbo tries to explain. "I mean, I know they're related and-"

"What are you lads doing to the poor hobbit this time?" The sudden question makes Bilbo jump.

"Nothing." Comes the expected chorus. Bilbo is not sure whether the innocent eyes are better than what came before or not. At least they're more predictable.

"Mocking Thorin." Balin replies to Bofur's question with a smile, seeing as how no one else seems to be going to.

"We weren't!"

"Not mocking! Just-"

"Well, that is quite a scary prospect." Bofur admits, semi-automatically pinpointing Thorin's position. He deems it far away enough. "How, exactly?"

"It's not mocking, it's just practising." Kíli tells him firmly.

"Practising for what? Angering Thorin?"

"No!"

"Probably, yes." Fíli admits happily. "I don't think he's aware he does it."

"Does what?"

"Does… that look that he gives." Bilbo fills in rather weakly. "That sort of grim, glarey one that makes you think he wished you were somewhere else."

Fíli steps in hurriedly. "I don't think he's actually thinking that-"

"He is sometimes." Kíli mutters moodily.

"And do I actually get to see this look?" Bofur asks, before this boils over properly and someone tries to start a campaign for equal treatment. Or a full-scale mutiny.

Kíli just sort of looks down and then looks up again.

"Yes, that's… that's definitely Thorin alright."

Fíli smirks as he watches Bofur try not to take a step backwards. "I can't do it as well as he can. It's his main card in the joint-kingship bid."

"Is not!"

"And have you ever shown Thorin?"

"No." Kíli's tone carries a further statement – that this is a stupid question. "If I did I would be 'an irresponsible, immature young dwarf with no respect for his elders and no inkling of the time and place for such matters.'" It's almost a perfect imitation of Thorin in one of his lecturing moods.

His brother frowns. "When did he say that to you?" But he only gets a shrug in reply.

The rest respond rather differently. Both Bofur and Balin are attempting not to laugh, and Bilbo had jumped nearly half a foot in the air at the sight of the usually carefree young dwarf frowning and growling so, and was still trying to recover himself.

"You know," Balin muses pensively. "I don't reckon it would be all of a bad thing to let Thorin see that. I'm never sure he knows just what he's doing sometimes."

"How long can you keep it up for?"

Kíli, thankfully, switches back to his normal voice. "I'm not sure."

"Until the meal's cooked?"

"…Probably?"

"I'll buy you drinks for the rest of the journey if you can."

Kíli opens his mouth, then, to his credit, hesitates. "Are you planning on calling Thorin over?"

A lack of an answer is as good as an affirmative one.

"Both of us drinks." Fíli chips in. "For the rest of the journey. Go on, Kíli." He whispers something rapidly in his ear, but his brother needs some persuading.

"I don't think-"

"Kíli!"

"Fine."

Kíli shakes Bofur's hand roughly, and the older dwarf rises almost immediately. "I'll see you in a moment, lads." Looking back he catches the stern look of foreboding that looks so out of place on Kíli's face, and grins.

But, as he heads back, he admits to himself that he does feel a certain amount of trepidation and, yes, doubt. He's having trouble judging Thorin's mood. He seems to be reasonably amenable, or at least curious. Bofur considers turning back, but then remembers just how many pints the pair can down on a good evening.

The hobbit has made himself scarce, and so has Kíli. Only Balin and Fíli are left perched on the tree roots, both trying not to grin. "Where's-"

Balin nods upwards and Bofur follows with his gaze. A small hunched figure is occupying one of the branches above them, well out of reach and looking mutinously down. It's hard to tell with all the leaves in the way, but Bofur thinks he might have his fingers stuffed in his ears. He yells up anyway. "What are you doing up there?"

"Brooding." Says Fíli helpfully, to make up for his brother's silence. "I think he wants to be left alone for a bit."

Balin joins in. "That's very unlike him, isn't it?"

Bofur gets what they're getting at, but Thorin clearly doesn't as he scans each of their faces. "Kíli! What is this?"

"They're making him pretend to be you."

"Bilbo!"

Thorin just looks perplexed. "And do I often sit in trees?"

"No. But I think he's trying to avoid doing it when you're around."

Thorin senses there's a bet riding on this, and quite a large one. "What was the deal?"

"Free drinks for both of them for the rest of the journey if he keeps it up long enough." Bofur grumbles. "Which he's not going to get if he stays up that tree much longer."

Kíli begins to clamber ungracefully down. "Let's see" says his uncle, as soon as he reaches the ground. Kíli mutters something and then does The Look again.

"Could be better." Thorin comments noncommittally. "Needs a bit more work. I know-" He swings his cloak off and dumps it over his duplicate's shoulders. "There. Make sure you give me a third."

They watch him walk off, all slightly stunned. Kíli recovers first and turns to grin smugly at his brother. "I've got the cloak. That _must_ put me ahead in the inheritance stakes."

"Hah!" Bofur has leapt to his feet. "That _definitely_ wasn't Thorin!"

"KÍLI!"

**Right, that was meant to be quick. But in the end I wrote nearly 2500 words, spent 4+ hours doing it and went through two versions. The first one got horrendously dark and angsty for this series, so I dumped it. So if you want to see the results of Thorin's other possible reaction (complete with lots of yelling) say so in your review and I'll pass it on to you. If not, see you in June! (Or whenever the bug bites) **


	14. Mushrooms

**Ok, a muse came and hit me. Wham! Like that. This was jointly inspired by my tea (the reason for this should become vaguely apparent when you read the title) and ave-mah, who suggested this quite a while ago… "**How about this - little brothers always follow big brothers around, until the big brother suddenly notices that little brother is gone." **Thank to both of you!**

**This is based on a bit of the film which is probably one of my least favourite. However, it did allow me to write this, so it's gone up in my estimation a little.**

_In which Bilbo discovers that pilfering from a wizard is generally a bad idea, and Dori and Fíli wonder where on earth their respective younger brothers are. Meanwhile, the brothers concerned are asking much the same question of themselves…_

Mushrooms

"Bilbo? What are you doing?"

Bilbo jumps backwards a tad too guiltily. "Just… cooking a snack."

"Oh good." Ori slumps down on the grass beside him. "I'm getting sick of all that elvish food, aren't you?"

The hobbit doesn't quite agree with that. Lord Elrond's halls produced magnificent feasts, which were apparently more to his liking than they were to the picky young dwarf, but Bilbo had actually come out here for a different reason. "Did you follow me?"

"A little."

"A little? How only a little?"

Ori rubs the back of his gloved hand. "They kind of hinted that I should go away for a bit and get some fresh air, so I did. So what are you cooking?"

"Mushrooms."

"Oh." Ori's disappointment clearly shows. "What with?"

"Well, a slab of butter and a little salt and pepper should do the trick." Bilbo doesn't want to divulge just now where he got the mushrooms in question from – not when it involves petty theft and a wizard. He has excuses. Two, in fact. Firstly that he is practicing his burglary skills and secondly that, well, like all good hobbits Bilbo cannot resist a tasty-looking mushroom. And he can't remember seeing this type before – the brown-robed wizard had seemed to treat them as something of a delicacy. He feels a bit bad about it now, looking back, but at this stage it's a little too late to return them.

"Don't you need a fire?"

"Yes… I was trying…" Bilbo's fine with a flint and tinder inside with a chimney with a nice draw. Behind a hedge with a pile of twigs in a breezy corner of the gardens is more of a challenge. "Could you…?"

"Oh no, I'm no good at that. I'll go get one of the others."

"No! I mean-"

Ori frowns suddenly. "You got these off the wizard, didn't you? The one with the funny nose?"

Bilbo doesn't comment that this detail doesn't really help distinguish the two wizards – or that dwarves really cannot comment on other people's 'funny noses'. "Possibly."

"That's alright. I'll try and get Fíli or Nori or someone."

Ori returns a few minutes later, with Kíli ambling along behind him. "These are damp." He says at once, carelessly tossing Bilbo's pile of (not really all that damp) twigs away and rooting under the hedge for more.

"I've never seen you light a fire before." Bilbo retorts, a bit too sharply.

Kíli just grins at him. "I once set Thorin's beard on fire.* Ever since then…" The flames spring up under his fingers as the sparks catch. "There."

Bilbo takes his purloined pan (well, borrowed actually – Bombur's probably going to want it back) and gets cracking. A delicious woody scent rises up as he fries the mushrooms lightly, trying to ignore the gaze of two hungry dwarves.

"Can we try some?" Ori has grabbed for a bit even before Bilbo had had time to pour them all onto his plate. "Urggh!"

The hobbit chews his mouthful carefully. "I quite like it. Quite a full flavour, sort of wood-smokey, a little on the bitter side…"

"They're disgusting!"

Kíli tentatively tries a corner of one, and pulls a face. "Bit strong." He manages.

"They're horrible." Ori corrects him.

Kíli shrugs. "Bet I can eat more of them than you."

"Hoy!" Bilbo grabs for his plate as greedy hands reach out. "They're mine! I cooked them! I actually _like_ them!" But it's of no use. He's forced to resort to the only method that works with dwarves and food – eating as much of it as possible before they get there.

* * *

"Have you seen Ori?"

Fíli scratches his head. "No." He replies truthfully. "I think he's gone out writing or sketching or something." It's strange that Ori isn't around – he usually sticks quite close to the group and his elder brother Dori. A bit clingy, Fíli thinks. Not like- well, a bit like Kíli actually, but it's _different_ with him and Kíli… Where is Kíli? "Kíli's gone too. They might be exploring together or something." That makes them sound like children.

"I suppose so." Dori replies.

* * *

"This is… this is… Those are _amazing _mushrooms, Bilbo."

"The sky keeps changing colour." Ori says dreamily. "There are sheep in it. Flying."

Bilbo frowns. He can't see any sheep, only more mushrooms, and doesn't hesitate to say so.

"Mountains." Kíli tells him. "Definitely mountains. Shaped like mushrooms."

"Are there any more?"

* * *

"We should go find them."

"I suppose so."

"Before they scare too many people." Fíli adds, though actually he's beginning to get a little worried. Can they really trust the elves…?

"Yes." Dori sounds like he's thinking the same thoughts too.

* * *

There's a weird humming in his ears, though that might just be the elves singing their silly songs again with all their hey-diddle-diddles and tra-la-la-la-las. Elves are silly. But the fire – that's fascinating. All purple flames and leaping colours. There's a dragon in it, which is talking to him about the pretty flowers in Ori's voice. Perhaps dragons are good at impressions? Perhaps they like eating mushrooms? Only one way to find out.

"Kíli! What are you doing!?"

Kíli finds his hand being pulled away from the fire and looks up into the face of his rescuer. "Fíli!" He struggles into an semi-upright position and then launches himself at his brother's legs as he stamps out the flames. "Fíli!"

Dori helps his own younger brother to his feet and is rewarded by him slobbering in his ear. The hobbit just rolls around giggling until Fíli pulls him up, a difficult prospect considering that Kíli now has his arms latched around his neck. "We'd better get them back."

That's easier said than done, especially since Kíli refuses to let go, and Bilbo decides to join in the hugging too by attaching himself to his waist, leaving Fíli half-dragging two people, both of whom are trying to tell him something about mushrooms and ponies and Uncle Thorin's eyebrows. And that's without taking into account the elves they bump into on the way, the second of whom Kíli and Ori decide to attack.

* * *

The room breaks down into near-hysterics when they enter. "They won't let go!" Fíli complains.

To prove him wrong, Bilbo does so, and stands reeling in the centre of the room. A small part of his brain quickly realises that he needs something to cling onto, and, unable to decide between Thorin and Bifur, goes for both, leaving Bifur on the floor and everyone else in gales of laughter again. Ori collapses on the floor and Dori nearly does the same beside him, supporting his little brother as he leans back with a happy smile on his face.

"What happened?" Thorin demands, trying unsuccessfully to shake the hobbit off his leg.

Bilbo, apparently oblivious to the welcome he's receiving, replies. "Mushrooms."

"I think they got hold of Radagast's mushrooms." Dori elaborates in a pained voice.

"Durin's… How many?"

Kíli's voice is somewhat muffled by his brother's hair. "Thir- thir-… More than Ori."

"They didn't leave me any!" Bilbo squeaked indignantly.

"Radagast's… Isn't he the one who talks to birds and beetles and things?" Gloín asks sceptically.

"I can fly like a bird." Ori informs them matter-of-factly. "Like an eagle." Looking round, Dori finds an empty space, but Nori grabs their errant brother before he climbs up onto the window ledge, and shoves a table in front of the opening.

"I think he talks to anything." Fíli says disgustedly. "Kíli seems to think I'm a tree."

"You're not a tree. You're my big brother." The level of adoration in Kíli's voice would be highly suspect if he was acting anything like normal. "I love you and I love Ma and I love Thorin… Where is Thorin?"

Fíli finds himself suddenly freed, and Bofur jumps in to try and stop the ensuing tussle for possession between Bilbo and Kíli, which only stops when some silent arrangement seems to be made that Kíli can hug his uncle from behind instead, so that Bilbo doesn't have to face the instability of letting go. Thorin does not look particularly amused. "Where is the wizard when you need him?"

Balin just shrugs, busy attempting to loosen Bilbo's hold. With Dwalin's help, Fíli manages to pry his brother off his uncle, at the cost of Kíli returning to nuzzle his neck again.

"What are you doing?" A voice comes through the door. "There is no need to barricade yourselves in, you know. You are perfectly safe in these halls."

Oín stops blocking the door through which Ori had been trying to escape to allow Lord Elrond to enter, accompanied by Gandalf. The stately effect is somewhat lost when Gandalf starts laughing and Ori is promptly sick all over the elf's robes.

* * *

Thorin humphs, but only once their guests have left. It seems that the renowned healing skills of the elves are wrongly described. Elrond's three pieces of advice (Do not leave them unsupervised, do not let them out, and 'it should wear off eventually') are only beaten for uselessness and condescension by Gandalf's (Don't let them do it again).

"Now what?" Asks Fíli wearily. Kíli still shows no signs of loosening his grip, and is murmuring peaceably in his brother's ear. Bilbo is now laid on his back in the corner, occasionally shouting things about his kettle and Bag End, whilst Ori is contenting himself with being repeatedly sick on the carpet. Thorin can cope with all of these, especially since it's a horrible carpet. In fact, as Bofur has pointed out gleefully, Ori's contributions are probably improving it.

"We wait." Thorin says grimly, wishing that he wasn't forced to take the elf's advice. "And when they come round again, we have words with them about accepting things off strange wizards." He reconsiders. "Or, indeed, all wizards."

Ori retches for what must be the final time, and Dori steps in to help him onto a fresh bit of carpet. Bifur has taken over with Bilbo and both are now sat in the corner having a largely incoherent conversation which Bifur in particular is joining in with gusto, possibly glad to be more understandable than someone else for once. That just leaves Kíli, whom Thorin helps his unaffected sister-son lower to the ground, where he immediately slumps over both of them. "I love you."

"We know that, Kíli."

Bofur puffs on his pipe, trying not to smile. "Well, there's one good thing."

"What?"

"At least we've got an excuse for trashing the room now."

* * *

*I always wondered a bit why Thorin's beard was shorter than most in the film, especially considering he's the eldest. This seems to cover it.

**Reviews are like beautiful beautiful mini revision breaks (i.e. I like them a lot and they may possibly help me work). Unlike this rather long revision break.**

**Also, do I now have to update the rating to cover accidental recreation drug use? It's not really a topic I've written about before. **


	15. A Dangerous Game - part 1

**Well, hello again. Not the best day for me to be posting the first part of a two-parter, but it could have been worse. Partway through, when it was getting longer and longer, I considered three parts – but that seemed a little too close to home, and also would have required me stretching the content a little too far (no comment!). It's stretched far enough already – in actuality the dwarves probably have enough sense not to do this, but in my world they're bored and want some fun. Like me. **

**Normally I take inspiration from my life for these, but recently it's been working the other way. Following my last update my little sis started hugging me and wouldn't let go. So, before my friends and family start terrorising me, I'd like to state for the record that this is largely made up of stuff I've done/witnessed, and I don't want it to happen **_**to **_**me! **

_In which the dwarves invent a new and very dangerous sport – baiting Thorin Oakenshield. Will Thorin's sanity (and the company) survive, or is this the end of the quest for Erebor?_

A Dangerous Game – Part one

They drew lots out of Bofur's hat. It seemed for the best. A grim silence had settled over the company, and more than one were beginning to regret their former vows and speeches as Balin's hand dipped in and closed around the first name. "Oín."

Oín grunted in a way that suggested he was having second thoughts about the way he'd been pushed into this. The others watched carefully as the remaining pieces of bark were drawn out. "Nori. Bofur. Dwalin. Ori. And Fíli and Kíli."

"In what order?"

Balin shrugs. "Both together. They're last anyway."

"Just as well." Dwalin rumbles.

They gaze into the embers of the fire as the sparks fly out and melt in the late evening breeze. They're nothing compared to the sparks that are going to fly tomorrow.

"This was a really stupid idea, wasn't' it?" Ori quavers.

"On the contrary, I think it's an excellent idea." Balin counters in as cheerful a manner as he can muster. After all, his name hadn't been in the hat. "It'll be amusing, it'll cheer us all up, Thorin can increase his limits a little…"

"We're going to get murdered!"

No one argues against that. They have a horrible feeling it might be true.

* * *

It was a stupid idea. No one could deny that. It had started off with an observation on the Durin family's natural tendency to irritate each other – or at least the eldest member – and had grown and grown into a full-scale competition with a very complicated list of odds. Dori had wanted to add survival odds on too, but they hadn't let him. This was bad enough as it was. And now, thanks to that embarrassing and potentially fatal combination of dwarvish pride, stubbornness and bravado, they were stuck with it. They weren't just going to step back and let Fíli and Kíli win, even if they did know best how to weather the storm.

Provoking Thorin. Bilbo knew a warning tale he'd been told as a young lad about a hobbit in his tweens who had once tried baiting a bull for fun. The bull had won. And he had a feeling that baiting Thorin Oakenshield was a far more dangerous sport, possibly even as much for the spectators as for the competitors. Yes, he'd make sure he stuck close to Gandalf tomorrow.

* * *

Oín isn't really putting much effort into it. Anyone can see that. Well, possibly Thorin can't, but that just goes to prove just how little effort is being put in. Oín has weighed up the risks and his brother has weighed up the coins, and it has generally been agreed between them that losing is the cheaper option, all things considered.

Or maybe it's just because the old dwarf can be so grumpy and irritable and hard of hearing in the mornings anyway that it's hard to notice when it's deliberate.

"I can't find it."

"Have you tried your bag?" Ori asks patiently.

"What?"

"Have you tried your bag?"

"Speak up, boy!"

Gloín yells something gruffly into his brother's ear and Oín turns back to his helper. "Of course I have!"

"Maybe in your pockets then?"

"What?"

"I said-"

Bilbo sighs. Ori really hasn't got the hang of what's going on yet. Neither has Thorin, which is something of a relief. Oín isn't the only one who can be grumpy in the mornings.

"What's the matter?" Thorin has an ear (and an eye) for problems and potential holdups. You could say it was inherited, or at least that it was a family skill. Practically a survival trait, in fact.

"What?"

"Is there a problem?"

"What? I can't hear you!"

Ori, ever-helpful, explains. "He can't find his hearing-trumpet."

"I can't what?"

Ori does a mime which is far more complicated than needed, and which causes three watching dwarves to double over in laughter. Oín nods vigorously. "Aye, that's right. I've lost it."

"Where have you searched?"

"Eh?"

"Where have you-?" Thorin turns to Ori, who just shrugs. Either he can't think of a mime for that one, or he's finally caught on.

"Where. Have. You. Looked?"

"Book? No, I've not lost a book. I don't have a book. I've lost-"

"Yes, I know. Where was it last?" Thorin's patience is holding out well so far, though an expert eye can tell where it's beginning to wear thin and suspicions are beginning to creep through. Someone without an expert eye but who pays attention to the corner of his vision would notice Fíli and Kíli instinctively backing away to the edge of the group, where there's still a good view but they're less in the line of fire, so to speak, and so choose to shuffle closest towards the nearest wizard. Unfortunately for Bilbo Baggins the wizard in question is in a helpful mood this morning, and there are no others available.

"Oin, my dear fellow, whatever is the matter?"

Oin takes a risk. "What?" Now he's playing games with a wizard too.

"He's lost his ear trumpet." Thorin is patting down his friend's folded cloak. "We need to get moving soon."

"'Ere, are you talking about me?" Oin asks suspiciously. "What did you just say?"

"That I want to get started soon. Where did you leave it?"

"Wh-?"

"It's here." Gandalf pulls something out of the top of a nearby pack.

Oin takes it gratefully. He's safe and his pride is still reasonably intact. "I must have put it in the wrong bag."

The dwarves glance at each other. One down, five… six… many more still left to go. It's going to be a tense day.

* * *

Bilbo has a suspicion. He has a suspicion that Thorin is beginning to be aware of what is going on. He's not entirely sure how that will affect things. Presumably it will make it harder, but it still reasonably certain that at some point or other Thorin is going to snap. And so he keeps his distance, watching out of the corner of his eye as he tightens the straps on his bag.

It's quite interesting to watch. Every time Thorin puts something down – something he is doing a lot of at the moment, as he tries to find some object or other stuffed away at the bottom of one of the bags – he finds it is not in the same place when he comes to pick it up again.

It's educational really. Nori is a master. Bilbo ought to be taking lessons, picking up tips and the like. Ways not to wake a dragon, that sort of thing.

Thorin lets out a quiet exasperated sigh as his hand fails to make contact with the bottle he had put down mere moments before. It's the sort of sigh Bilbo's kettle makes at home on the fire, when it's just beginning to bubble and hiss. But the dwarves' bet is on when Thorin will boil over, and, in some cases, on how many people will get scalded when he does.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even look at Nori, even when the dwarf starts making it obvious. He just tracks down each item and repacks it, slowly and with reasonable calm, although his eyebrows do give a kind of twitch when he picks up his knife to find it stuck to his hand. It takes ten minutes of warm water and the last of the soap to get the sap off, and at the end of it a disconsolate Nori gives Bofur a quiet nod.

Thorin's playing them at their own game.

* * *

Bofur had put a lot of thought into the song. It was an old favourite, one of those where you could insert verses endlessly, though in practice this meant that after around twenty rounds people began fidgeting and hinting heavily, and that was when there was drink flowing.

"_And a good jug of ale wouldn't do us any harm,_

_And a good jug of ale wouldn't do us any harm,_

_And a good…"_*

Ori and Kíli join in whole-heartedly the fifteenth time through the chorus. Bofur isn't sure whether they are trying to sing in harmony with each other or just follow the tune, but whatever it is, they are failing terribly. He would say deliberately, but he can see the effort in Ori's screwed-up face. Besides, he's heard them singing before. If 'singing' is the word for it.

"_And a fight with a dragon wouldn't do us any harm,_

_And a fight with a dragon wouldn't do us any harm…"_

Thorin's getting away. Bofur speeds up his pace – his walking pace, not his singing pace – so that he's still within audible range. There's a slight squeak from behind him as one of his over-enthusiastic backing singers is forcibly silenced and someone quietly re-explains the rules to them.

"_And an end to this song wouldn't do us any harm,_

_And an end to this song wouldn't do us any harm…" _

Eventually he runs out of verses, which has never happened before.

They stop not long after, and Thorin goes behind a tree and quietly removes his impromptu earplugs, feeling a smug sense of self-satisfaction. They haven't got him yet, and he's not going to let them. Not if he can help it. His dignity won't allow it – and the best way to preserve it now is to keep on acting as if he hasn't even noticed them. Besides, he can outlast any of them, at a pinch. They have no idea what they've got themselves into. No idea at all…

* * *

* For tune and endless sets of lyrics, see 'And a drop of Nelson's Blood wouldn't do us any harm.'

**Credits and kudos to BM originally, ave-mah, roads-go-ever-on and Louisiana Stephenic, who had the whole idea in the first place.**

**As for whether Thorin explodes or not… well, you'll just have to wait and see. But in the meantime, feel free to guess about who (if anyone) manages it and how! I'll be amused to see all the better plots that mine! **


	16. A Dangerous Game - part 2

**Sorry this took so long… but here it is. Straight in with the action, on account of it basically being one word document chopped into two (it's deliberate, honest!)**

A Dangerous Game – Part two

Dwalin is harder to avoid. "Thorin! Watch out!"

He's kind of expecting it this time, but he still ends up knocked to the ground, flat on his back with Dwalin covering him protectively.*

"Ah – my mistake. It was just the burglar." Dwalin rubs his bald head as he climbs to his feet, a grin spreading over his face. "Sorry, Thorin, I seem to be a bit jumpy today."

"Truly." Thorin brushes himself down. This is the fifth time he has been jumped on today, and every time the excuses get more ridiculous. He rubs his forehead. He is absolutely certain they have something going on now, and that they are enjoying it immensely. Thorin doesn't intend to let them. He is assuming that the game is to see who can annoy him the most, and he is determined to be equally annoying, in his case by refusing to show any signs of annoyance. Something that would be a lot easier if Dwalin would-

"Thorin!"

- If Dwalin would stop doing that. And the muffled laughter would stop too.

"Very threatening looking rock, that." Gloin comments, and then hastily steps out of the way. Thorin takes a deep breath. He will not let Dwalin win. He will not let Dwalin win. He will not let…

Dori approaches him tentatively. He had recently decided to make himself scarce by scouting ahead, torn between watching Dwalin jump on their leader a second time and being very far away when he did so. "The ground gets quite boggy ahead – we should take a different path."

"Keep going." Thorin mutters grimly.

The ground starts to squelch underfoot. Behind him he hears Kíli yell, in a highly amused voice, "What's that in that tree over there?"

For once Thorin is grateful for his family's glee at his current predicament, because it's enough to give him more than a split-second warning. He sidesteps neatly.

SPLASH.

They haul Dwalin out and use a stick to get his left boot back.

"I think Thorin won that one." Bilbo pants as he watches the departing back.

"Do we keep going?" Ori's voice quavers slightly.

Nori claps him round the back. "I did it, so you can do it."

"But… but he'll snap next time, won't he?" Ori glances desperately at the two experts on the subject. Fíli just shrugs.

"You can't let them win." Nori exhorts him. "Besides, we want him to snap."

"I don't."

* * *

"Are we nearly there yet?"

Ori had been told as a child that this was one of the most irritating questions that could ever be asked, especially when asked repeatedly at very short intervals. The only question his elder brothers had apparently found more annoying was 'can I have a sweet?', but the young Ori had found that a long string of the first question finished with the second usually had the desired effect.

One thing his elder brothers had never tried to do – or Thorin for that matter – was question him back. Someone's been listening to the wizard too long.

"How long until we get where? Erebor? Or just the next place we stop? Hours or miles?"

"Ah… the next place we stop? In time."

"Now."

Well, there was that plan ruined.

"Where are we going next?"

"That hill over there."

"What's beyond it?"

"Another hill."

"And beyond that?"

"Probably another hill."

"And beyond that?"

"Where we stop for the night."

"What then?"

"We sleep. Ori, are you aware that you are talking to someone who once spent a whole morning answering 'where does milk come from' for Kíli?"

"No," says Ori honestly. "Where does milk come from?"

"Cows."

"And where do cows come from?"

"Other cows."

"And they come from…?"

Ori, lacking the tenaciousness of a five-year old Kíli, gives up first. But he's determined not to leave it there. They'll never let him get away with it at this stage in the game. Anyway, if there's one thing he's noticed about Thorin losing control, it's that it's often connected with acts of extreme stupidity or danger. Like when Fíli and Kíli had nearly drowned. But he doesn't fancy pushing one of them into a river, and besides, there isn't one nearby anyway. Just trees. Trees.

Ori isn't a natural tree-climber, although he can do it at a push (usually from below, with the aid of a firm foothold). But he quickly finds that what it's even harder to be is a natural faller-outer of trees, mainly because the body knows that this kind of action is rarely in its best interests.

"Ori? What are you doing?"

Dori is stood somewhere underneath him, but Ori doesn't want to look back down. "I'm stuck! I climbed up to, to see where we were going and then I tried to get down and now I can't!"

He had been intending to drop into the pile of leaves beneath him in a convincingly dangerous way, but at this point it doesn't look quite as cushioning as it had when he was on the ground. His mind had overcome his body enough to get his legs off the branch, but now he's clinging onto it with white-knuckled fingers.

Thorin surveys the scene wearily. "You're only five foot off the ground."

"I'm not going to let go!"

"What about if we pile lots of stuff underneath?" Dori tries.

"No!"

"You could just shake it until he falls off. Like apples." Bofur suggests, somewhat unhelpfully.

"It would be easiest if he just let go."

"No!"

"One of you go up and get him down."

Dori opens his mouth to protest at this overestimation of his climbing abilities, before realising that the command had been directed at Fíli and Kíli.

Fíli decides to use his authority as the older brother to refine the statement. "You go up and get him down."

"Why?"

"…So you don't have to catch him?"

"Stop it! Stop it!" Ori protests. It's quite a spindly tree, and he's not sure it can support two people. Really he should have chosen a better one. One that shakes less.

In the end the plan to create concern and worry succeeds even more than he had hoped, because when the branch he is clinging to gives way it brings two dwarves down with it instead of one.

"Told you letting go would be the easiest option."

Ori unburies himself, and is rather ashamed to note that he has failed to fall on anybody else. That would have been the most climactic termination to his plan, and would have been guaranteed to send Thorin over the edge. If only he had thought of it earlier.

"Any broken bones?"

Ori shakes out his arms and legs. Kíli is already back up on his feet. "No."

"Good." Thorin walks away, apparently unperturbed, yet secretly fuming. The stupidity of it!

Ori flings himself back down into the pile in despair. "Now what do I try?"

"Nothing." His eldest brother tells him firmly. Ori sags as the only remaining contestants exchange a knowing look.

"I think I've broken something!" Kíli yells after his retreating uncle's back. It's worth a try, but Thorin doesn't seem to hear. "Now what?"

Fíli grabs his arm, already dragging him away. "We think of something. Something good."

"Excellent."

* * *

Bilbo is seriously worried now. If anyone is to surpass Ori's spectacular failure of a set-up-turned-actual accident… well, there's going to have to be some serious effort involved. He would have thought that Thorin would have been ready to crack at a whisper by now, but no, dwarves are stubborn when it comes to the crunch. They don't give up easily. And so Bilbo is terrified that someone, possibly him, is going to get 'accidentally' shot, or that he'll wake up to find the whole camp on fire.

He watches the pair of troublemakers carefully. They're sat on the edge of the circle, out of earshot of everyone else, but every so often they'll cast amused glances towards the rest of the group, or just break down in mutual laughter, both cracking up at the thought of some plot or other, before one of them suggests yet another idea.

Thorin watches too. He has absolutely no doubts as to who is next in this stupid game. That said, he's had ample experience in coping with the aftermaths of his sister-sons' schemes, successful and unsuccessful. Still, perhaps this has gone too far now. He should have stopped them earlier, when this began getting dangerous, but then, well, he would have proved them all right. He really doesn't want to do that. But he's also not too keen on waiting to see what fiasco they come up with.

Fíli is gesticulating as he explains something. In the fading evening light Thorin sees his younger brother raise as eyebrow, pointing out some flaw or other. Fíli shrugs, then shakes his head as Kíli suggests something in turn. "Can't do it" he hears him say. He doesn't want to know what that means. Kíli persists in his explanation regardless, leaving his fellow conspirator chuckling as he points in various directions around the camp until Fíli shushes him, casting a suspicious glance in Thorin's direction.

Their eavesdropper tries to pretend he isn't. There's an uneasy silence for a while, filled with dire mutterings and murmurings, until Kíli's voice starts to rise again. Thorin distinctly catches the words 'pot' and 'flammable'. Fíli cuts his brother off again. "Not enough."

Thorin shifts uneasily at that, and Kíli looks up to meet his gaze, fingers fondling the fletchings of his arrows. They hold it for a few seconds, until Fíli draws his brother's attention away with some new thought. Kíli's laughter cracks through the camp, followed a second later by his brother's. "Yes! Yes! We should definitely do that!"

"STOP IT!"

As one, the dwarves all stop bothering to pretend they're not warily watching the scene unfolding in front of them as Thorin staggers upright.

"Stop what?"

"We're not doing anything."

"Exactly! Just… just _do_ it and get it over with!"

"Do what?" Asks Kíli innocently.

"Whatever you're planning!"

"But we're not-"

"Yes you ARE!"

"-Really-" Fíli takes a step back as his uncle approaches. "Thorin, we're not doing_ anything_."

"At all."

"Yes, so STOP IT!"

Kíli tries not to grin. "So you actually want us to do something-?"

Balin steps in between them. "Stop it lads. You've proved your point."

"WHAT POINT?"

"That they can make you go off your head without even doing anything." Bofur explains, with all the calm of someone sat on the other side of the group. "We admit it – we're impressed."

Thorin just glares at them all, in an impressive show of self-control, then stomps off. Bilbo lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Besides him, Gandalf just looks amused, a state he's managed to maintain for most of the day. "I think that was long due, don't you?"

Bilbo doesn't answer, just glad it's all over, that Thorin had stopped it all before anything could, well…

Behind him, he's sure he hears someone mutter: "That was the best idea we've had in ages."

"Yeah." No one could fail to mistake the smugness in Kíli's tones. "Better wait a while before we try it again though."

A pause.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."**

* * *

* For some reason, when I was wondering what Dwalin could do, the soldiers of King Bruno the Questionable, or whatever his name is, in Jabberwocky sprang to mind. That thought sparked another even more wonderful idea, which will hopefully be appearing on a fanfic site near you in the near future…

** Before you ask, no, they are just joking. They have more sense than to try it again that soon, I hope.

**It worries me slightly that the first, nicer half of this story was suggested by readers, whilst the second, more dangerous part was mostly based on things I've done... I guess I just like to stick to the old writer's advice. **


	17. Hide and Seek

**Sorry this took so long. Was off doing interesting stuff. As in, other interesting stuff. Anyway, this is the afore-mentioned other Jabberwocky-inspired chapter. I love that film. One of my favourite scenes is the one where they decide to use a game of hide and seek to decide who's going to be champion of the realm…**

_In which the dwarves make use of their stay in Laketown to practise camouflage, concealment and search and rescue tactics. Or, as it's known by most people, hide and seek. _

Hide and Seek

Bilbo yawns_. _He probably shouldn't have done so - it was meant to be an enthralling story, even if parts of it sounded suspiciously made-up, and the two narrators couldn't quite agree. He could see why they did it. After a few evenings sat round campfires with the dwarves telling of the glorious exploits of themselves and others (Thorin, for one, always seemed capable of getting his stories told for him, and then just got to sit there brooding whilst they were told) Bilbo had wished that he had something more interesting to tell about than the time he had had to extract a flock of sheep from his garden. Fíli and Kíli almost certainly felt the same way too, but since there was only him and Ori that they could tell their stories too without constant interruptions and corrections Bilbo found himself listening to a lot of tall tales. The problem was, with Fíli and Kíli, the worst bits were probably true.

A hand claps him on the shoulder and Bilbo jumps. "What are they telling you about this time?"

"Err…" Bilbo struggles to recall.

Dwalin sits himself down next to them. "They weren't really that good at tracking when they were younger." He says, despite the lack of answer.

"Really?" Bilbo asks, trying to sound surprised.

"No." Dwalin says happily, ignoring the scowls he's getting. "I remember when they were tiny and they'd ask to play hide and seek." He leans back against the wall. There had been chairs in the room, but they weren't really built for dwarves, and at some point Bifur had started using them for kindling. "Fíli here would count to twenty, or as near as he could get, and Kíli'd sit there giggling with his hands over his eyes, and I'd stomp off in one direction and then creep back the other way. They'd go rushing off, and I'd get half an hour of peace and quiet in front of the fire before they finally found me."

The hobbit struggles with the image of Dwalin creeping anywhere, and even more so with the idea of him tricking his infant charges. Or him even having infant charges. Thinking about it, it could explain a lot.

"Well, at least I was better than Kíli." Fíli speaks out against his brother, in a desperate attempt to preserve at least some of his reputation. "When it was his turn he'd just say 'I'm going to hide under the kitchen table' and then you'd have to spend ages pretending to look for him."

"Yeah, you were loads better." Kíli says archly. "'Of course it's safe, Kíli, the lid's light enough to open from the inside. It won't lock or anything. He'll _never_ find us down here.'"

"True. That was a bit of a mistake." Fíli concedes.

"A bit of a mistake? We spent a _whole day_ trapped in a chest in a cellar you'd locked behind us!"

"But he didn't find us for _ages_."

"Exactly!"

Bofur settles down amiably besides Bilbo. "You know, I do believe they were twenty-odd when that happened. Or so I heard."

"It's a game that never loses its charm." Dwalin admits.

"I bet you wouldn't find us if we played it again now."

"Not until someone wondered why the chimneys weren't drawing and looked up to find your suffocated bodies stuck up there."

"Bofur! We've never done that! And we're not going to." Fíli adds, spotting his brother estimating the width of the flue.

"Even if everyone played you'd find us last." Kíli claims, flicking his attention back. "That's if you _can _get everyone to play."

* * *

Dwarves, Bilbo keeps finding, are an endless source of surprises. One moment they're all sat round the fire muttering about logistics and supplies and what the Master of Laketown's really up to and how you can't get any decent pipe-weed round here, the next they're scattering in different directions as Dwalin stands with his face to the wall and starts counting to a hundred.

"…five… six… seven…"

Bilbo slips his magic ring on and waits. It's sort of cheating, but he feels it's about time he won something. Besides, it's his ring. He found it. He can do as he likes with it. It's his.

"…ninety-one… ninety-two…ninety-three…"

"Dwalin? What are you doing?"

"Ninety-four, ninety-five, six, seven, eight ninety-nine a hundred." Dwalin mutters rapidly under his breath.

"Dwalin?"

"Thorin!"

Thorin had been out doing things. Technically, they were all supposed to be doing things as well. "We're… we're just practicing for when we get to the mountain. Camouflage and the art of surprise and, er, hiding."

"And seeking?"

"Possibly." Dwalin concedes. "For finding hidden warriors, and, er, dragons."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Mind if I help you find them? It would be good for… for…"

"A laugh?"

"Yes. Possibly."

Bilbo follows them.

"Ah. I can see how you might have guessed what we were doing." Dwalin surveys the hall. "Oin, you make an appalling hat-stand. And Dori, did you really think hiding behind the door would work?"

The two disappear almost gratefully to sit back down besides the fire. Everyone else seems to have more of a competitive spirit.

"Think like your prey." Thorin muses. "The old advice." They quickly find Bombur in the pantry. Possibly it's an attempt at a double bluff, or possibly it isn't. Dwalin checks under the table whilst he's there, but Kíli has not reverted to his old favourite hiding place. Balin is uncovered in a different cupboard, smiling happily up at them.

"Found the lads yet?"

"We'll flush them out at some point."

"Dinnertime, probably."

A search of the bedrooms proves more fruitful. Someone has obviously been taking heed of the story about the chest, because one at the back of the room has the end of a pipe sticking out of it to make sure the lid doesn't fully close. "Ah, Gloin." At least he hadn't decided to have a puff on it while he was in there.

"Who's left?" Thorin seems to be fully enjoying himself.

"Fíli and Kíli, Bifur, Bofur, Nori… Ori, I think. And Bilbo."

"So the young sprightly ones." Balin remarks, who is still following them around.

Thorin is staring intently at the bundle on top of the wardrobe. He has a strange feeling that it is staring back. He climbs up onto the bed to get a better look and finds Bifur crouched there, wrapped in a blanket. They help him down.

"Well, that's all the even vaguely predictable ones." Thorin sits down on the bed. "Tell me, Dwalin, where would you hide if you were young and had no sense of self-preservation?"

"The cellars." He replies at once.

A fairly extensive search of the cellar reveals no hidden dwarves. Apparently even Fíli and Kíli learn sometimes. Bilbo trails them at a distance, watching them poke into shadowy corners and scatter the dust, taking care not to leave any footprints. This is all good practice, really.

"The oven. That would be a stupid place to hide."

Bofur agrees whole-heartedly with this statement when they help extract him. "I don't think they've cleaned it once in twenty years" he complains. "Have you found…?"

"No."

"Checked the chimneys yet?"

The fire's already blazing again when they get there. Thorin stops Dori stoking it and damps it down instead, carefully sticking his head up. "Not there." There's a certain sense of relief, even though they knew they wouldn't really…

"Good. Wait-" Dwalin lowers his finger. "Nori, have we found you yet?"

"Interesting question." Nori replies, comfortably ensconced in the best seat of the three remaining - the one with the tall back and sides - facing the fire.

"How long have you been there?"

"Since Dwalin started counting."

Dwalin hmmphs under his breath and chooses to ignore this implied slight on his abilities. "We still haven't found the lads."

"Or Ori."

"You're saying we need to make sure we find him last? What do we do when we see him – ignore him?"

Bilbo opens his mouth, about to remind them that there's someone else they're ignoring, then thinks better of it.

"Where haven't we looked?"

Dwalin shrugs.

"You restricted it to the house, I take it." They are _trying _to make a good impression on the locals, after all.

"Aye." Dwalin ponders. They've tried the cellars… "Perhaps it's time we looked up."

The attics are empty of everything but dust and rubbish and they retreat back down to the floor below. "That's everywhere in these halls. Where else are you supposed to hide three dwarves?" Thorin looks out of the half-open window into the gathering dusk, as though hoping it will provide answers. It stubbornly refuses to do so. The streets are no longer thronging with the doings of men – instead pigeons hop around the broken roof tiles. Their loaned house is one of the few with a tiled roof in the wooden city, and is supposedly one of the grandest. Thorin is not particularly pleased to find that it is slowly falling down.

Balin hangs out next to him, frowning. "We didn't say 'stay in the house', we said…"

"Don't leave the house" Dwalin completes the sentence grimly. As one they look up - not considering the attics this time, but the roof.

"They would." Is all Thorin says.

Bilbo watches as the three older dwarves manoeuver themselves out onto the window ledge and from there onto the sloping roof. He waits a minute, then makes up his mind to follow them. The climb is far less arduous than he had expected, the gutter offering a good foothold to his nimble feet. Dwarf feet are not quite so nimble, and several more tiles come off above, one narrowly missing Bilbo as he swings himself over the edge. But after the ravines in the mountains it's nothing. He finds himself on the more gently sloping side of the roof – the patch around the corner is far balder when it comes to tiles.

They only find Kíli on the roof. He's hanging onto Fíli, who is sort of half on it, half off it, and holding onto something in turn. By process of deduction and prior experience, Bilbo quickly infers that this something is Ori, who seems to have a knack for falling off things. He rushes over to help, only for a sudden loose tile to send him sprawling, almost slithering over the edge just as Ori had presumably done.

"Are we the last, then?" Strain clearly shows under Kíli's affected nonchalance.

"Found you." Says Thorin grimly. "And just in time as well."

With four dwarves heaving, even on such an unstable surface, the other two are quickly hauled to safety before Bilbo can even find his feet again. The argument commences almost straight away.

"You saw me last so you found me last." Ori claims stubbornly.

"You left the building."

"I didn't _want_ to. Besides, you were holding me onto it, so that still counts."

The bickering recedes as Thorin drives them back towards the open window. Bilbo considers making his grand reveal, then decides to wait until after the inevitable chastisement that is bound to occur as soon as the elders get their younger charges back on firm ground. He'd rather it didn't appear as though he had chosen the roof as a hiding place as well. No, he'll wait it out up here, listening in, and then sneak back down when they've all forgotten about him, really make a point-

The horribly definite clunk of a window-shutter being closed and snap of a bolt being drawn breaks through Bilbo's plans for retribution and recognition. Bother and blast it.

A cautious search of the roof top, with a few near slips, ascertains that there are no other routes down, excepting the obvious. But Bilbo doesn't fancy taking the quick way. He sits on the gable instead, watching the clouds draw closer, primed to resupply the lake.

Looks like he's going to have to wait to be found after all.

**Whoops, Dwalin got extraordinarily talkative in that one. Must be enjoying himself. **

**My life has got rather exciting, or, more accurately, even more exciting in new and different ways. Since adventures are the things you tend to write about afterwards I'll probably leave off this for a bit until I get some more inspiration. If you have any ideas, for these themed short stories or any others, please do send them to me and I'll add them to my list of ideas. You never know, they might even get written up some day. And you may even be able to reboot my inner writer, who's currently on holiday. Not sure where though.**


	18. Home

**Apologies for the very long delay in writing. This will be explained below. A strange little piece, which I'm hoping will get me back into the spirit of things.**

_In which Bilbo is challenged to remain for a day without mentioning home - something which would be a great sight easier if the company's younger members weren't so keen to give him a lecture on the subject. _

Home

_What he would like – really like, just right now in this balmy sunny weather – is to be sat on his own front step, pipe in hand and a pouch of tobacco on his knee, sending the rings up and over the familiar hills. Perhaps a book too, lying open on the step. Nothing too taxing – something he'd already read a few times before. Territory as old as the Shire. Perhaps a plate of something too, and a mug of foaming ale, and that comfortable knowledge of being sat before his own front door… _

An irate voice chides him out of his daydreaming. "Mr Baggins, I'll wager that you cannot spend an entire day without mention of 'home'."

* * *

He had not even realised that he had been musing aloud. Now he was stuck in the middle of another stupid bet, and an unsettling large one too. And he was also saddled with the uncomfortable feeling of having incurred the displeasure of the dwarves. Bilbo would admit, if only to himself, that his thoughts dwelt on home perhaps a little more than those of the rest of the company, and that he was certainly the most vocal about it. But what was so strange in that? The dwarves were used to being far from home, used to being on the road – Bilbo had never done anything like this before in his life, and-

Ah. Well, he had been expecting it sooner or later.

"Good morning, Mr Baggins!" Ori, obviously a hanger-on in this situation, greets him merrily. Fíli and Kíli just trade grins as they position their ponies on either side of him. Bilbo glances in front of him and back over his shoulder, but no one looks inclined to come to his rescue.

"We thought we'd come and tell you how terribly homesick we are." Fíli informs him confidentially. "Please don't let the others know." None of the three young dwarves were actually directly involved in the bet – it had been Gloín who had issued it, strongly backed up by Thorin – but it had been far too good an opportunity to miss.

"Terribly, terribly homesick." Kíli emphasises.

"Oh for the smells of home."

Ori gives a fair imitation of one of Bilbo's tired sighs. "Oh I _do _miss my snug hearth fire, and my armchair and the whistling of the kettle as it boils for tea."

There's a short pause, during which Bilbo is presumably meant to be prompted into uttering the forbidden topic of 'home.' Fortunately the pause is interrupted by Fíli's doubtful comment on the veracity of the earlier statement. "You've never had an armchair."

"Yes I did." Ori replies indignantly. "We used to have one when we lived outside that little village up near, near…"

"The one in the North of the Blue Mountains? With the woods? That wasn't really-"

"No, no, I wasn't thinking of that place… I can't remember where it was now. We spent a while there. There was a lovely mill. I really liked it."

"Oh, _that _one. I thought you might mean somewhere recent." Fíli rolls his eyes in his brother, but Kíli is frowning over something.

"I thought when you said to talk about home you meant that place where we lived when we were children, in those cottages by the river." Kíli's face creases with happy remembrances. "Dwalin made you that boat, remember, and…"

"… and then he rowed us to safety in it when they burnt the place down around our ears. Yes, that was _obviously_ our happy childhood home…"

Bilbo cannot help but interrupt here. "Er… sorry?"

His question goes unheard. All three dwarves have clearly forgotten their original purpose and are now embarked on a debate – although 'debate' suggests structure and a willingness to listen to others' views – about where their true childhood home lies.

"The little town at Far-, Far-"

"Oh come on Ori, we weren't even born then. What about the camp to the East of the Ettenmoors-"

"Trolls."

"I don't remember trolls."

"You were tiny. By the Gulf then. Near the Forlond."

Kíli closes his eyes, as though looking far back into the past. "Isn't that the place where they tried to sell us?"

"No, that was further along. But they did chase us out-"

Bilbo, feeling rather forgotten and confused, butts in on the argument. "What are you all talking about?"

"Places we've lived." Fíli replies simply.

"Yes, but what's all this about fire and chasing you away?"

The dwarves look between each other, clearly puzzled that Bilbo doesn't know, until Fíli takes it upon himself to explain.

"Generally, when we move somewhere, the people already living there, or nearby, aren't too happy about it."

"Why not?" Bilbo knows the dwarves are still not entirely at ease with his addition to their company, but he can hardly imagine any of them chasing him out.

Fíli shrugs gracefully. "Because we smell? No, they count us as a nuisance – not one of them. Not their problem. They're happy for us to stay for a bit, until we've fixed all the tools that need mending and made enough knives and jewelry to keep them happy, then, well… Then they start hinting that you should leave, start shunning you a bit more. Start refusing to sell to you. Then someone'll start a drunken brawl-"

"- normally the blacksmith." Ori cuts in. "They don't like us taking their trade."

"- and Dwalin or someone gets the blame for all the broken bones."

"You once." Kíli reminds him.

"Or something else sets it off." Fíli continues, appearing to ignore his brother. "Someone loses their temper, someone's pet stag gets shot in the woods-"*

"- That was an accident!-"

"And they burn your houses down?" Bilbo can't quite comprehend all this.

"Once."

"Er… twice." Ori corrects.

"No one burns down anything at h- in the Shire." Bilbo catches himself just in time. "But, I don't know, aren't you useful for trade and ironwork and…"

"Of course." Kíli replies. "Until they get sick of paying and realise it would be easier just to hold some of us to ransom and get the work done for free."

"Ah."

"Thorin was, well…" Ori can't find the words suitable, but Bilbo can imagine the picture well enough. "He hasn't let us live in any towns or villages since then."

Kíli brightens up. "Still, living in the mountains was great though."

"So… you moved a lot?"

"All the time." Fíli speaks as though this was only to be expected - the norm. "We all do. Well, Uncle and most of the older ones still remember living in Erebor…"

"But you should be back there soon." Bilbo fumbles over the words. "I mean – it's yours. You can stay there as long as you like. A proper…"

The brothers exchange shrugs. "Home moves." Says Kíli philosophically.

Ori joins in brightly. "You mean like family, friends, things like that."

"Yeah."

"Warm wool blankets, wood smoke,"

"Home-cooked food…"

"Drunken singing…"

"The smell of the forge…"

"Hmm, or just a campfire. Dori worrying about something…"

Kíli grins. "Ma braiding her hair and Uncle's hands all engrained with soot and smoke…"

"You, being an idiot."

_And a sun-warmed smoking spot and a kettle on the fire. _For the first time, Bilbo feels he should have more. He leaves them quietly, dropping back slightly in the line. He wonders vaguely if Thorin even knows of the younger dwarves' looser view of their homeland. He can't help feeling guilty too, even though it isn't _his_ fault that none of the three have ever been allowed to settle down. And yet still, for all that…

"I think they have a better sense of home than I do."

To his surprise, neither Thorin or Gloín say anything, not even to claim their coin.

_* kudos if you get the reference_

**So, here's a translation of the above sort-of-explanation: In the past year I have moved house just short of ten times (although admittedly I only stayed in some places for a week. Not sure if that makes it better or worse). Four of those moves occurred between the last time of writing and now, complete with several days of being effectively homeless. And to totally destroy my writing/thinking/being able to act normally time, someone turned on summer. Hope that at least in part accounts for the delay, and the subject and tone of the above chapter. **

**Anyway, next up I have one I'm really looking forward to, that's a lot more on the humourous side… And after that I run out. **


	19. Are There Any Women Here?

**Thanks for the reviews, particularly the utterly lovely ones (which they all are, of course). Prompted me to rush off and write and post this - before I increase my house move total for the year by two. Luckily one of them looks like it's going to be permanent! (Or what counts as permanent for me - i.e. over 6 months) Anyway, so here's something a little more light-hearted and less introspective...**

**Using a few bits from the film here, for reasons of it providing amusing minor* plot points. Hope no one minds.**

** *Now major. They grew bigger whilst writing.**

_In which Bilbo receives a tip-off and sets about some detective work in an attempt to root out a long hidden secret buried at the Company's very core. What will he uncover? Who can he trust? Will he be forced to resort to looking for fake beards? And just exactly what _do _dwarf women look like anyway?_

Are There Any Women Here?

"Are there any dwarf women?"

Bilbo is fairly sure that he has asked this question before, but had not been met with a helpful response, due largely to his interviewees' preoccupation with telling him the tallest stories they could think of. He had been wondering about it since, in some of the journey's quieter moments, and had decided to pose the question again, although he confesses that he doubts his own wisdom in asking the same people twice.

"Yes" says Fíli.

"And…?"

"There aren't very many of them and they mostly look like dwarf men anyway. Why do you ask, Mr Biggins?"

This is clearer information than Bilbo could ever have hoped for, clear enough that he's willing to overlook the twisting of his name. Not that not ignoring it does any good. Fíli and Kíli are remarkably good at turning a potential social faux pas into a source of continuing merriment – for themselves, at least. "Do they have beards?"

"Sometimes."

"Mostly."

"Kíli, you know barely any female dwarves."

"Neither do you."

"Well, I suppose with everyone we're travelling with being male…"

His two companions share glances at Bilbo's words, in their characteristic, but still incredibly off-putting, way. "Who told you that?" Kíli asks.

"Well… I… I just kind of assumed."

That meets with grins. Two of them.

"Well, assume again."

"You mean… One of the company's a woman?" Bilbo feels like a cliff ledge has just dropped out from underneath him. Surely he would have noticed, after all this time? Mind you, if what he's heard about dwarven womenfolk is true…

Fíli raises a hand in the air. "I, Fíli, of the line of Durin, solemnly swear to you, Mr Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, that there is at least one being of a female nature travelling with us on this adventure."

Kíli raises a hand in imitation. "Same."

"Except with a name change, of course."

"Yeah. 'Mr Belbo Boffins of the Shire'…"

Bilbo harrumphs. "Who is it?"

"Oh, we're not going to tell you _that_."

"Tell you what-" Kíli tries – and fails – to hide his grin. "How about we give you three days to solve our little riddle, and if you fail you have to give us that bag of fine pipe-weed you've been saving for yourself."

"How do you know about that?"

"Sharp eyes."

"And a sharper nose."

"And drinks. We want drinks too."

"Fine." Bilbo crosses his arms. "But if I get it right then neither of you are allowed to call me Mr Boggins or Mr Biggins or Mr Buggins, or any other variant of Bilbo Baggins - or anything other than Bilbo, in fact - ever again."

A shared glance followed by a shared nod. "You're on, Mr Babbins."

Kíli smirks in response to Bilbo's less-than-amused look. "May as well get the use out of it while we can."

* * *

Bilbo settles down more comfortably on his pony's back after ten minutes of craning his neck to try and puzzle out the young dwarves' expressions. This needs thought. Careful thought.

He runs through the list of names in his head. Gandalf is obviously out. Thorin too. And as for Dwalin and Balin and Oín and Gloín, well it's hard to imagine…

_But if they look like all the others…_

Bilbo leaves aside this line of enquiry for a moment, wondering instead who would be most likely to conceal such a secret. Funny little Ori springs to mind, and perhaps his brother too. But if he's only looking for a smaller physique… well, then almost half of the dwarves are on his list, and he only has three days. The Company's general care for their appearance and their hair and beards in particular does not help at all. Bilbo tries hard not to be influenced by his experience of his own kind, but the harder he does so the more the image of Bombur as a plump Hobbiton housewife stirring a pot of soup springs to mind.

He can't just _ask_. If it's obvious to Fíli and Kíli it must be obvious to the others as well, and Bilbo does not feel inclined to reveal his ignorance. He must make enquiries instead. Discreet enquiries. But who to focus on first?

* * *

"Dori?"

"Yes, Mr Baggins."

Well, at least _someone _is getting it right. "I was sort of wondering… Do you all have families at home as well?" The question comes out in rather a rush. Bilbo finds it an uncomfortable one to ask. Dori, on the other hand, with a dwarf's typical love for kin, does not see it as strange at all.

"Well, I have my old mother at home, and one of her brothers, and then cousins and second cousins and so on scattered here and there. But both my brothers travelled with me."

Bilbo's heart drops a little at the mention of 'brothers', but feels he might as well question further. "But don't any of you have families of your own at home? Wives and children?"

Dori shakes his head. "Not in our branch of the tree. But as for the others, well, I believe Bombur has a large brood of his own. Bombur!"

Like Dori, Bombur is more than happy to speak of his family to Bilbo – even more so, in fact. Without even asking (all the doting father had needed was a hint of interest) Bilbo is treated to a list of Bombur's childrens' names, ages, appearances, and achievements in life so far, with a hefty side-order of praise for their beautiful, loving, devoted mother.

Thus passed the first day.

* * *

Bilbo isn't sure who to speak to after that. He keeps catching sight of either Fíli or Kíli watching him out of the corner of their vision, and cannot quite get it out of his head that they are smirking. Eventually he ends up riding next to Ori, purely because Ori is at the other end of the line, away from that discomforting gaze.

"Hello Mr Baggins. Dori says you're collecting all our life-stories. Either that, or you're trying to write a family tree."

Bilbo scratches his head. "Perhaps."

"Well, I have two brothers…"

"Er, yes, I was told about that yesterday."

"Oh."

But Bilbo cannot afford to give up such a promising potential witness. "What about… what about Bifur? How is he related to everyone?"

Bilbo cannot help but be impressed. Ori has a chronicler's memory, effortlessly tracing lineages and marriage ties back through the centuries. Not only can he answer the hobbit's question (no women in this branch of dwarves, Bilbo is sad to discover), he too has clearly heard Bombur's reminiscent lecture – only he has bothered to make mental notes. Before long Bilbo finds himself hopelessly mired in seas of dwarvish names and family ties as Ori explains his theory of how Bombur's children (whose number Bilbo has lost track of, no matter how many times their names are reiterated) are in fact distantly related to him and his brothers, by means of a third cousin twice-removed who had married his great-great-grand-something…

Thus passed the second day.

* * *

"Hoy! No smoking that now, Mr Saggins!"

Bilbo glowers at Kíli as he folds his tobacco-pouch back inside his blanket and begins to fasten on the saddlebags. All he gets in response is a good-natured grin.

"The answer's closer than you think." And with that tantalising remark, the dwarf melts away.

He leaves Bilbo with an idea.

"Morning, Bofur."

"Ah. I expect you've come for a spot-test on the names and ages of my brother's delightful little brood…"

"Um… no."

"Good." Bofur smiles wryly. "I can never remember all their names."

Determined not to get stuck on the subject of Bombur's gigantic family again, Bilbo realises that he has been given the opening he needs.

"Are all dwarf families so large?"

"No." Bofur pauses. "If I must say so myself, my brother does have a tendency to overdo things."

"What about the Durins then? Is that-" Bilbo waves his hand towards the front of the line, where Fíli and Kíli are trailing their uncle and occasionally casting glances at him over their shoulders, "-Is that it?"

"Pretty much." Bofur admits. "Sorry-looking bunch, aren't they?"

Bilbo laughs despite himself. "Don't they have any womenfolk?"

"Well, there's the lads' ma. She's Thorin's sister."

"No… no daughters?"

"No, just those two, poor woman." Bofur lets out a sudden bark of laughter. "Aye, I would like to see that: Fíli and Kíli, the dutiful daughters of Durin."

* * *

Bilbo curses his luck. He had had a hope – a forlorn one, admittedly – that the two dwarf brothers had meant one of themselves. Now it seemed unlikely. Come to think of it, they all seemed unlikely prospects, every last dwarf. Bilbo was well and truly stumped. There was nothing he could do now, short of asking every single one of them, or waiting until the next time they all bathed, whenever _that _might be…

Oh!

Of course! He had already shared a river with a whole company of dwarves (and he hadn't had his eyes shut the _entire _time), except for, of course…

Oh!

* * *

"I know who it is."

"Know what who is, Mr…?"

"Bebbins?"

"The answer to your riddle." Bilbo tries hard to be patient. He knows it, he knows he's got it.

"Who then?" Fíli asks, with feigned nonchalance.

"Thorin."

It doesn't have quite the desired effect. Both dwarves stare at him as though he's just proposed that they should all walk to Erebor backwards and wave the mighty Smaug a cheery hello when they get there.

"Thorin." Fíli repeats weakly.

Uncertain whether or not they are shocked because his deduction is correct, Bilbo decides to lay forth his reasoning. "He, well, he takes a lot more care over his appearance than most of you, and he keeps himself to himself, and..." Bilbo pauses before laying down his trump card, still uncertain as to how t oread their reaction "- he doesn't wash with the rest of us…"

"Thorin!" Fíli exclaims again, as his brother bends double over his pony's neck with what appears to be laughter.

"… And he fusses over you like a mother hen." Bilbo finishes lamely, as Kíli slips sideways out of his saddle and lands in the dust, still laughing uncontrollably.

"We meant… we meant…" Fíli gasps out, quite unable to hold Bilbo's gaze. "We meant..."

"The ponies! We meant the ponies!" Kíli finishes for him, and that is all anyone can get out of him for some time.

Bilbo is cross with himself, not to say the least. All this time he had been feeding his pony stolen apples and riding her for miles and miles, and it had never occurred to him that the answer to the 'riddle' might be the creature he was sat on – let alone that it might go 'neigh'.

"What-?"

"Thorin!" Fíli exclaims, half in welcome and half in repeated delight. "Thorin!"

"What is going on?"

"Bilbo… Bilbo…"

The hobbit tries to take advantage of Fíli 's breathlessness. "It's nothing. Nothing at all."

"We told him that, that-" Fíli struggles to overcome his fit of hysterics "- that there was a, a female travelling with us-"

"Yes, alright, he doesn't _need_ to know-"

"And he thought-"

"Ale for the rest of the journey!" Bilbo begs desperately.

"He thought-"

"You can call me whatever you want!"

"Fíli!"

"He thought it was _you_!"

And with that, he joined his brother on the floor.

* * *

Such hilarity ensued from the 'Queen under the mountain' episode that the brothers forgave Bilbo his debt of pipeweed, which suited Bilbo fine. To cap it all, in their delight they even ceased from calling him Mr Bolbo Saggins, or any other similar names.

No, from now on it seemed he was doomed for eternity to be known by the entire company as 'Miss Bilba Baggins'.

**I am out of ideas (and time, and, for the next week, internet). Please send any requests in a review/pm them - I don't really care if they're for this story collection or not, so long as they spark something. Short of that, just send me a random prompt word. **


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